


Something That Finds You

by windfallswest



Series: Love or War [12]
Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Comics), Marvel, Marvel 616, New Warriors, Nova (Comics)
Genre: Aliens, Character(s) of Color, Ensemble Cast, F/F, F/M, M/M, NaNoWriMo, Porn With Plot, Quests, Richard Rider's Technicolor dating habits, Space Opera, Superheroes, Time Travel, characters of ALL colours, organising superheroes is like herding cats, space, space lady lady-sex in space
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-28
Updated: 2017-02-15
Packaged: 2018-08-27 14:58:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 30
Words: 141,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8406139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/windfallswest/pseuds/windfallswest
Summary: Everybody gets lost in space!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've AU'd some things, mostly minor, like teh sekrit wrrz. I swerved off at the very end of Nova vol. 5 (2013) and Guardians 3000, and I think I may have ignored an entire volume of the Silver Surfer (oops).

 

At the end of Realm of Kings, Richard Rider and Peter Quill risked everything to trap Thanos in another reality, one where nothing ever dies. They failed. Thanos and Quill have returned, but what about Richard Rider?

Hanging on the answer to this question are Rich's brother Robbie and the other Nova Corps recruits whose Nova force was taken in preparation for the final conflict, as well as old allies Darkhawk and Namorita, one of whom may be on the verge of a drastic physical and mental transformation. All of them are still out there somewhere in space.

Meanwhile, back on Earth, the recently re-formed New Warriors seem drawn to the stars. Water Snake has been charged by Atlantis to bring home Namorita, who has been thought dead ever since the tragedy that destroyed the team at Stamford, but cannot find her anywhere on Earth. Original Warriors Justice and Speedball are eager to help her in her quest for their teammate. And Sam Alexander, the new Nova, knows that his father is somewhere in the far reaches of space on a ship that is running out of fuel.

But the future is unravelling. In a last-ditch effort to prevent the collapse of all reality, the original Guardians of the Galaxy are trying desperately to find a way back in time; however, the hazards of their own fragmenting timeline have separated them. One of them has already arrived, but cannot remember what brought him to the past.

 

_Love isn't something you find. Love is something that finds you._  
—Loretta Young 

 

* * *

**BOOK ONE**

* * *

_Knowhere, on the Rip_  
_Two and a Half Years Ago_

The bulkhead scraped her knuckles when she hit it. It was satisfying. Her fingers left their impressions behind in the metal, obviously a better grade than anything they had on Earth.

The big guy in blue and white took her gently by the shoulders. "Nita."

Namorita sucked in a breath through clenched teeth. She had to restrain herself from turning and punching _him_. Of course the stubborn idiot had gone and gotten himself killed: he hadn't let anyone come along to talk sense into him. Rich's sacrifice had been a noble one; entire galaxies would sing of it for countless ages to come.

There would come a time when that thought would solace her, when she could take pride in his victory and the warrior he had grown to be. Grown without her; Namorita had only just begun to know him again. And now she was without him.

Namorita was at home in the water and on the land. But this airless void was Rich's home, not hers; and she was very alone here.

"Come spar with me."

For a moment, the words didn't even make sense.

"After a loss, it always helps to have something to fight. At least, that's how it is with me," he continued.

One corner of Namorita's mouth twitched feebly, although there was no humour in it. "You may come to regret that."

Namorita assessed him frankly. This Major Victory was a big guy. He had reach on her; but hunky as he was, the weight advantage wasn't so far on his side as he might think. Not that that was the kind of thing Namorita went around advertising.

She wasn't entirely human, after all. Atlanteans were built stronger, tougher, denser. A lot of surface-dwellers saw five and a half feet of leggy blonde in a bikini and assumed they knew what they were getting. They always looked so surprised when she turned them into fish food.

Having seen some of what Major Victory could do, Namorita didn't take it easy on him. He met her savagery smoothly, but she could sense anger rising to the surface. His was a controlled rage, harnessed but not tamed.

They pounded on each other until the shaking in their limbs owed more to fatigue than emotion. It was her strength against his finesse. She overextended and he got her pinned in a lock. Even though he was twice her size, Namorita could have broken it, along with a couple bones, maybe. Suddenly, though, it was enough.

She tapped out and Major Victory let her up at once, courteously extending his hand. Namorita eyed it with hostility, then took it in the spirit of comradeship in which it had been offered.

The salle and its attached armoury opened into some kind of living space. On one side there was something that might have been a kitchen, and then some furniture, and then an archway into another room where Namorita saw glimpses of stuff that looked like what Reed Richards probably wished his computers looked like. A series of closed doors probably led to personal quarters.

No one else was there except for the Guardians' telepathic dog, who was curled up in a sad-looking ball on a couch. He met her eyes, as sleepless as they both were.

Namorita wondered what time it was. Wait, what was she thinking? This was outer space, the farthest out you could get. Time was arbitrary. There wasn't even a star to orbit, just the, what? the dying glow of reality? No wonder all these cosmic geeks got so weird.

Major Victory handed her a glass of what turned out to be water, and Namorita thought she would have to find a pool somewhere soon. Her stomach was achingly empty, a demand she had been able to ignore up to now. She lived still and must attend to the routines of living.

She didn't cry, though. Tears were meaningless to an Atlantean. She had been born in salt water.

The dog lifted his brows, following them with his liquid eyes. Namorita sat down beside him and drained the glass.

"Refill?" the Major asked.

"Thanks. I get dehydrated out in the air," Namorita told him, idly scratching the dog's ears. "You said your name is Vance, right, big guy?"

"Yes; Vance Astro of the Guardians of the Galaxy," he said over his shoulder.

Namorita's hand stilled. "Wait, Astro? You mean Astrovik?"

"Well, it was before I changed it," the Major said, sounding surprised.

"Super Tights, you creep! Why didn't you tell me it was you? I should have recognised that costume."

 _She is beink another person from your future?_ the dog's voice sounded in Namorita's head.

"No...from my past," Major Victory said in a curious tone of voice. "I was originally born on twentieth century Earth. There is another Vance Astrovik living there now. Nita, the boy you know must be the Vance of your timeline, the one I changed to prevent him from ever becoming me," the Major explained.

Namorita raised her eyebrows, accepting the glass back. "No wonder the poor boy's so screwed up."

 

_Houston, Texas_  
_Now_

"We're going to be late for dinner," Vance said.

"Ask me if I care," came the reply from the other room.

Vance sighed. They had been trying to get together with Kaine's friends in Houston for weeks, but coordinating the schedules of a doctor, a police officer, and three superheroes was about as difficult as you'd expect.

Well, Vance said 'they'. He straightened his cuffs and checked his watch again. "Kaine?"

"One more word and I'm going to remove your spleen," his boyfriend threatened. "I don't know where the spleen is, exactly, or what one looks like, so I'll probably have to search for a while before I find it."

"Have I mentioned your attitude lately?" Vance asked. "Because it could stand some improvement."

Kaine stomped out into the main room of his two-room apartment and glared at him. "Bite me."

Vance bussed his cheek. "Later. Do you have everything?"

"Is this what people mean when they talk about having a Jewish mother?" Kaine asked, reaching for the door.

"Don't tempt me."

At least Kaine was dressed for dinner. Usually, he slouched around in jeans and henleys when he was out of costume, not that Vance was complaining. He did have something else in his closet, evidently, because he'd come out wearing grey slacks and a western-yoke button-down in a wholly unexpected lavender. Vance was wearing deep red and dark brown in case he spilled something on himself.

"I don't know what you're worried about anyway," Kaine was saying as Vance followed him down the stairs, absolutely not ogling his broad shoulders. Or his ass. "You face down super-villains all the time; it's just dinner."

"I'm not worried. It's only good manners to be on time. Besides," Vance added a little inconsistently, "I have a better track-record with super-villains."

That wasn't really the whole truth. The truth was that Lieutenant Layton had had ample time to look Vance up by now. Any friends of Kaine's had to be reasonably broad-minded, so he wasn't (too) nervous about facing open hostility. It was the subtler reactions that were harder to predict. What with one thing and another, any discussion of his past was almost bound to land the conversation on what was still very chancy ground with a lot of America.

Vance let Kaine drive, which at least meant he was too distracted to worry about anything except dying in traffic. On the other hand, they arrived on time.

In fact, Lieutenant Layton and his husband walked into the restaurant right behind them with Aracely in tow, or vice-versa. Dr Meland was a worn man with sloping shoulders and a kind face leant character by an aquiline nose. He walked with a cane and had the drawn, pale look of someone recovering from a serious illness. The taller Layton hovered solicitously next to him only to be shooed away with affectionate exasperation. Meland's pale green eyes lit with a keen interest when they landed on Vance.

Vance braced himself and mustered a smile despite his nerves. The other thing about having lived so much of his life in the public eye, the part most people never considered, was that you were never sure how _much_ of what was out there a given person might be aware of. Were Layton and his husband looking at Kaine's boyfriend or someone else? Justice the Avenger? Vance Astrovik, patricide?

Aracely broke the tension by running up to Kaine and throwing her arms around him. The haunted expression he'd had while looking at Meland melted into one of resignation.

"Nice dress," he said gruffly.

"Thanks!" Aracely twirled, the hem of her brightly-patterned dress flaring out. Then, a little to Vance's surprise, she hugged him too. "This is Vance! He's very nervous. Kaine wants you to give him a hard time because he thinks it's funny."

Vance gave Kaine a dry look over her head, to which he replied with an unapologetic shrug. A smile curved his lips, unwilled.

Meland and Layton watched this exchange with unabashed amusement. Layton cleared his throat and reached across to shake Vance's hand. "Good to see you again. This is my husband, Donald Meland."

"Nice to meet you." Vance did his best to wipe the goofy look off his face as he shook hands.

"Don't worry, we're not interested in scaring you off," Meland said with a sly twinkle in his eye.

"Let's sit down." Aracely bounced up to the hostess. "I want to eat before the hawk comes."

No one batted an eyelash. Obviously, these people knew Aracely, too.

Aracely was, if possible, more of an enigma than Kaine. Vance knew some things about Kaine's past, at least, although mostly not from Kaine. He was a clone of Spider-Man, former super-villain and assassin. He'd spent time in some kind of institution, but Vance didn't know if it had been voluntary. He knew Kaine was haunted by his past, that he was angry, that he he was trying so hard it hurt to watch.

Aracely... From what Vance gathered, she had grown up in Mexico. She was an empath and a telepath with few memories of her life before Kaine stumbled into her, somehow, here in Houston. She didn't remember her exact age or going to school, but she didn't have an accent, either. Vance had amassed a college course's worth of material on Aztec mythology in hopes of deciphering her visions.

None of this seemed to worry her much. Her disposition ran a short range from serene to sunny. None of them knew how powerful she was.

The hostess led them through the restaurant and out to a narrow, walled-in patio where a fountain burbled soothingly. They were seated at a wrought-iron table surrounded by shadowy greenery that worked with the low, warm lighting to create a sense of privacy.

Everybody else ordered water, too, except for Aracely who had a coke, which made Vance feel less awkward. It wasn't so much that his father had been a drunk as that even now that he was confident in his ability to control his powers, the idea of impairing himself still didn't really appeal to him.

Aracely opened her menu. "Oooh! Cheesecake!"

"Dinner first," they all chorused.

Aracely gave vent to a heavy sigh. Meland tried to disguise a snicker in a cough.

"So, Vance, how did you persuade Kaine to join this team of yours?" he asked.

 _Here goes_. "Well, it wasn't so much me as some goons who kidnapped a bunch of us. At first I thought he might have been a little angry with them for interrupting his vacation; but now I realise he just enjoys a good fight." Vance smiled benignly at Kaine's sour look. _Payback_. "He picks some good ones."

"So have you," said Layton.

Vance kept his face neutral. He had made his peace with his decisions, and for the most part he felt he'd made the right ones. He was done backing down to humour other people's sensibilities, but he really, _really_ didn't want tonight to be about that.

"Hah. Kaine doesn't like talking about that kind of thing either. I can see why he wanted to get out of New York, though," Layton said.

Vance got it. "Oh, you want to know if we're going to be sticking around. Well, the plan is to go where we're needed. Our base is pretty mobile right now."

"Uh, yes." Layton cleared his throat. "My superiors did request that I mention the mountain."

"Technically, boats can go right through it, and it's not affecting the currents. But we'll be careful to keep it away from the main shipping lanes. Or I suppose we could park it out off Galveston, but that's still a long way for Aracely to fly."

"She can fly?" asked Meland.

"I'm getting really good! And I can read minds and make people afraid."

"Well, we knew that," Layton said.

Aracely stuck her tongue out just in time for their waiter to appear. She smiled winsomely up at him and started speaking in rapid-fire Spanish. Kaine opened his mouth once, then closed it. A minute later, the waiter collected their menus and ducked back inside.

"Uh, what just happened?" Vance asked.

"Don't worry, I ordered what you want," Aracely assured him brightly. "Wally, I cannot believe you actually like the grasshoppers."

Vance placed a mental check in the 'needs more work' category. She slumped a little.

"We'll get there," he promised.

"You seem so normal," said Meland later, after their food had come. Vance had to admit, Aracely _had_ done a good job ordering.

"Um," Vance said.

"What he means is, Kaine is obviously a hot mess."

"Hey!" Kaine protested.

"It is true," Aracely said.

"You want to deny it?" Layton challenged. "Vance, you've been in the middle of a lot of this crazy superhero stuff, pretty publicly. How do you handle it?"

"It's not easy; I've had a lot of help," Vance told him honestly. Then he grinned. "I try to keep things in perspective. My original career path would have stranded me in suspended animation for a thousand years. At least I can take my costume off."

"I'd help you. Maybe not if you were a thousand years old, though." Kaine leered at him.

"I'm serious. You know that scene from Indiana Jones, when the guy shrivels up and blows away in a cloud of dust?"

Kaine stared at him blankly.

Meland serenely kept eating. "We're still working on their cultural education."

Their waiter swung back around to check on them. "Is one of you a Mister Astrovik?" he asked, refreshing their water.

"That's me," Vance said, coming alert.

"Do you know a man named Chris Powell? He's out front, asking for you. He said he was a friend of yours, but if he's not we can—"

Darkhawk? _What's he doing here?_ Vance stood up.

"It's okay, he is. Thanks. Excuse me, everybody; I'd better go see what's up."

Kaine's eyes were questioning; Vance gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze in passing. They all watched him go, the knowledge written on plainly on their faces: super-trouble. Just once, Vance would like to get through a date without someone trying to blow something up.

The guy scuffing his heels on the floor in front of the hostess station was thankfully not in costume. Medium height, young, with a half-familiar set to his shoulders. He looked up when Vance got close. His expression was tired but relieved, not panicked and fearful.

"Vance!"

"Chris!"

They clasped hands and clapped each other on the shoulder in greeting. Chris looked around.

"Let's take this outside."

Vance nodded and they went. He had never really known Chris all that well. Darkhawk had only ever been an intermittent member of the team, and they hadn't crossed paths much in the years since. He knew Chris manifested the armour using a crystal and that it gave him some offensive darkforce capabilities, as well as protection and flight.

Once they were out on the sidewalk, Chris' smile faded quickly, leaving his face the drained grey of exhaustion. "Hey, sorry to pull you out, but you weren't answering your phone."

"Not to be rude, but—how did you know that I was here?" Vance asked. He watched the street, watched the air, ready to pull up a shield at the first sign of attack.

"When I found out you guys had put the New Warriors back together, I knew you'd want to help. I've been looking for you all day; my claw drone finally tracked you down here. Sorry if it's a bad time; I didn't want to risk losing you again."

"What's wrong? Is it an emergency?" Vance asked.

"It's Nova," Chris said, and for a moment Vance actually thought he was talking about Sam. "I think I know how to find Richard Rider."

 

_Intergalactic Space_

There wasn't a roar or a blinding flare of light. The calculations were complex, but they were so precise that the wasted energy was barely sufficient to give off a dim glow. It took all his concentration to hold them in his mind, shaping the power in the way they required and not letting it go roaring out of control.

There was no rest, no movement; he lay prone, but any input from his neglected body had been shut out long ago so he could give himself over entirely to the task.

Another fluctuation hit. The glow dimmed, approaching the unrelieved blackness of perfect economy as the calculations adjusted themselves, demanding perfect concentration from him in order to compensate. Unmarked, his body's respirations grew shallow instead of laboured, conserving even that little energy.

Every erg counted. The energy construct—there was no margin built in. Even now it was starting to degrade. Further instability in the power source could send the calculations into a furious cascade of too-rapid adjustments in an attempt to maintain full function with insufficient power, outracing his reaction time by so much that he started losing his grip on the whole thing and it all began slipping out of control in a searing fire of feedback.

A surge of terror flooded his mind at the memory. He could even hear the distant sounds of people shouting in alarm. The panic made it harder to concentrate, but the adrenaline surge that followed gave him an edge in fighting it back. Right now he could keep up, he could. Right now was all there was. _Just do what they tell you. Just keep it going_.

He could feel the fluctuation passing. The anxious voices were receding, once more leaving nothing to disturb his concentration. There was no room for relief as the construct stabilised. It would have been a lie anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't like posting things I haven't finished; but before I (hopefully) whack off the rest of this in NaNo '16, I wanted to give you guys a look at what I've been working on this past year. Current word count is over 106k.


	2. Chapter 2

_Mount Wundagore  
Transia/The New York Bight_

"This is how it played out," Chris told them.

It had taken until the next afternoon to get everyone together. While Vance was still trying to decide what question to ask first, Meland and Layton came out of the restaurant. He shook hands and said his goodnights a little numbly, mind racing in five different directions at once. Aracely emerged with Kaine in tow—shit; he'd left Kaine to pay for dinner; real classy—as well as a lot of boxed dessert. The girl had priorities, anyway.

They'd gone back to New York that night. Teleporting mountains were convenient that way. College classes were out for the summer and superheroes were used to irregular hours, but Sam was still in high school and couldn't get away until the next afternoon. He was doctor-certified concussion-free, his mother confirmed, and had managed to get his helmet repaired. 

Vance had put out the call, and the team was all gathered in the rec room, watching Chris with palpable curiosity. Most of them were crowded onto the couch. Sam was sitting front and centre in full gear, quite possibly not breathing. Selah was next to him, looking interested despite not really understanding what was going on. Wearing her goggles but not her rig, Vance noted; he was glad to see her demonstrating a little prudence.

Silhouette and Robbie had come up to greet Chris and then settled across from each other, Sil on the edge of the couch where she could use the arm to help her get up and Robbie on the ottoman-bench thing they'd found lying around in a disused section of the base. Robbie and Mark were the only ones still in street clothes, but then all Robbie had to do to suit up was stomp on the floor really hard. Mark probably just wasn't comfortable strutting around half-naked, however practical it was when his offensive powers included transforming into a dragon.

Faira leaned hip-slung on the back of the couch, which left Mark completely boxed in by women. Considering the women in question, Vance couldn't blame him for looking a little uncomfortable. Jake Waffles had taken up a more prudent station behind the other side of the sectional, still a little separate from them all.

Across from them, Aracely didn't sit so much sit as float cross-legged near Robbie. Kaine was beside her, hanging upside down from a strand of webbing. Spiders seemed to have a hard time just standing anywhere, especially in costume. Of course, Vance himself had evolved a certain number of excuses to fly. Keeping his cape off the ground. Practice, that had been a good one: you could never get too much practice. Reaction time. All completely legitimate.

Although Kaine might think twice about it after this. Vance, who was standing between them and Chris, fought valiantly to conceal his amusement as Kaine withdrew further up his web. Undeterred, Aracely matched his height and reached out with a gentle push, sending him swinging back and forth once again.

Chris had slept like the dead once they'd got him back to the base last night. It had done something for the bags under his eyes, but not the underlying tension. Chris always had been a little tightly wound, Vance recalled.

"A while back, one of those intergalactic wars that are always breaking out ripped a hole in reality. There was some pretty trippy stuff in there, but that was nothing compared to what we found on the other side. A nightmare universe trying to pour through. It was so bad Galactus was on the front lines throwing punches and we had to bank on _Thanos_ to save us all. Rich went in after him and Star-Lord's Guardians of the Galaxy to back them up. And when it was done, Rich and Star-Lord stayed behind to make sure Thanos didn't come back."

Sam's attention was glued on him, his fingers digging into the cushions as he perched on the edge of the couch. He'd found Rich's helmet last month. 

"But Thanos is back," said Vance.

"So is Star-Lord," Chris replied. 

"So where's Rich?" Silhouette asked. 

"Don't know. The only Nova anyone's seen hide or hair of is this little punk." Chris jerked a thumb at Sam, whose lips pursed dangerously. "Except Richard Rider was the repository for the entire Nova force. If he's really gone, dead in another universe..."

"Then how can Kid Nova be accessing it?" Vance completed the thought.

"But he is. And we can use that to trace his link to the Nova force back to Rich," Chris said.

"Cool!" Selah exclaimed, enthusiasm shining in her eyes even through the goggles. "But how are we going to get to wherever he is? This sounds like a space-ship situation."

"Either a space-ship situation or a dimensional portal situation. The Avengers might be willing to send us off-planet just on the off-chance we don't come back with our embarrassing mountain and tarnished reputation," Robbie suggested brightly.

"What's the range on this mountain?" Aracely asked.

Robbie mimed drumsticks. "Ba-dump, tchss!"

Kaine grimaced like he was sucking on a lemon, visible even through his mask. "...I...might know a guy with a dimensional portal."

Vance looked around, a little nonplussed. "You all know we're in a spaceship, right?" 

Robbie's jaw dropped. "How have you never told us that?"

"You mean we had a spaceship the _whole time_? But I had to go into space with the _Hulk_!" Sam complained.

Chris's eyebrows flew up. "Well, that doesn't sound like a good idea."

"You could have asked," Vance said, a little defensively. 

Sam groaned and buried his helmet in his hands. 

"Did you figure all this out on your own?" Vance asked cautiously.

Chris shook his head. "No, it was Rich's brother, Rob. He was a tech at Project PEGASUS while I was head of security there, which is how I got mixed up in all of this. He and Namorita stayed there for a few days right after everything went down, then they hooked back up with the Nova Corps recruits. Rob thought the Worldmind might be able to find him if there was anything to be found. I'd have done more, but I'm not really the most popular guy out there right now and I've got my own space-problems. It's a long story."

Robbie did a double-take. "Wait, did you say Namorita?"

Vance was abruptly conscious of Faira, who had been listening up to now with a neutral expression on her face. Chris blinked at her, as though just now noticing the resemblance. 

"What do you know of my lady?"

"Well, I guess it makes sense you wouldn't know," Chris said. "It was crazy, but there was so much more crazy out there trying to kill us all in the face that we didn't really have time to do anything other than go with it. Sometimes I think we all must be nuts to keep doing this."

"It is urgent that I find her. Where. Is. Namorita?" Faira growled dangerously, stalking up to him.

"I think you should back off," Chris said.

"Do not try my patience, surface-dweller."

"Hey, get out of my face."

The Darkhawk amulet was glowing under Chris's shirt. Vance moved to head off a fight, letting them feel a little of the force ready to hold them back as he got between them. "Calm down, both of you."

"Tell her!" Chris protested.

" _Both_ of you."

"Namorita is a member of the Atlantean royal family, and I am charged with her safe return. If you possess knowledge of her, I will have it!" 

Vance met her solid black eyes and their gazes locked. "And she's our friend. We fought together for years; Nita was our family as much as she was Namor's. If she's out there, we are going to find her. Darkhawk is her comrade-in-arms; he's on your side. And Chris," Vance flicked him a hard glance, "try acting like it."

Chris sucked in a deep breath for a hot reply, then closed his mouth. Vance could almost hear him counting to ten as the air trickled out his nose. 

"I'll tell you what I know. I wouldn't blame her if she wasn't thrilled to see _you_ , though," Chris added under his breath.

Faira subsided, although not all the way back to the couch. Prudently, Vance didn't withdraw far either. 

"Last I heard, Rob and Nita were running around with the Nova Corps," Chris said.

"But there isn't a Nova Corps," Sam blurted out. 

Chris shrugged. "Rich had a bunch of other bucket-heads with him. His brother, Rob, was one. He said their powers all went dead and that big computer of theirs shut down when the Fault closed."

"So, we need to get the kid to the old Nova's brother and save the space police," Selah said. "I'm down. When do we leave?"

Aracely swung around to look imploringly at Jake Waffles. "Mister Dog, do you know how to fly the mountain?"

Being the only survivor of the High Evolutionary's New Men, the evolved canine Jake Waffles knew more about the base's operations than any of them. Vance had flown quinjets in the past, but he'd barely glanced at the star-drive controls, focussing more of his attention on the quantum teleportation they used to travel around the Earth and the various operational systems. He was fairly confident in his ability to figure it out, eventually; but Waffles was still their best bet.

"Yes, but it will handle like a barge," he warned.

Vance nodded. "Well, that's the first thing. Everyone go start packing for a trip. We may be out there a while."

Sam came up to him as everyone else started talking amongst themselves or drifting away. Vance considered him. He'd grown this year, in more ways than one; Vance could swear he'd gained four inches in just the couple months he'd been benched. Fifteen; the kid was about due for a major growth spurt. 

Vance had some seriously mixed feelings about Sam. He'd seen too many kids get hurt in this business. But, of course, he'd seen too many of everybody get hurt in this business. The mistake adult superheroes always seemed to make was in thinking that telling a kid to sit down for a few years would take. It hadn't stopped any of them, after all. 

Sam had the stuff, no question. And in Vance's experience, the kind of motivation he had driving him wasn't going to be talked down. In the end, he felt a lot better about Sam being out there with them to back him up and knowing he didn't have to go behind anyone's back to avoid a fight about his age. Vance was glad the Avengers seemed to have finally clued in, too. The Initiative, training...it hadn't been a bad idea, even if it had been poorly executed. Keep everybody too busy learning to get into trouble off-campus. He'd felt like he'd been accomplishing something at Avengers Academy.

"What's up?" Vance asked.

Sam scratched self-consciously at the back of his neck. "Sooo, when _do_ you see us leaving?"

"As soon as we can. Why? Is there a problem?"

"Well, school's not out yet."

_Oops._ "Man, I did not even think about that. Look, Sam, this whole plan hinges on you. We'll go when you're ready. Maybe we can find a way to get Rich's brother back here to take a look at your helmet, get us started. I won't lie to you: time's important. But frankly, anything Rich has survived for this long he can probably survive for a while longer. That goes for your dad, too, by the way," Vance added.

"I've...been thinking about that, too. I was already planning on going out to look for him this summer. I've got a friend who says she'll help out at home while I'm gone, and it's only a couple of days; finals are already over and everything."

"And what does your mom say?" Vance asked carefully.

"Well..." Sam's smile flashed briefly. "I mean, she said I can go."

"Did she say you could skip class?" 

"I mean, does it really count as class if they're not teaching you anything?" Sam asked disingenuously.

Vance gave him a resigned look. "Just do me a favour and at least ask her first, yeah?" 

"I'll go right now," Same promised, already turning around.

"Sam." He stopped and craned he neck over his shoulder.

"We'll help you find him. We'll find all of them," Vance promised.

Sam nodded back gravely and ducked out the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you who are curious, the current word-count is in excess of 116,500. To celebrate crossing the 10k mark for this round of NaNo, here's chapter two!


	3. Chapter 3

_Andromeda Galaxy_  
_The seedy side_

The crowd was raucous, the drink was atrocious, and the air was foul. Gamora was grateful for the spaceport bar's poor lighting. She wasn't trying to hide, but she didn't want to have to look too closely at any of these pathetic sons of schlaags. 

As a group, however, drunken spacers knew almost everything there was to know in the universe. It was just how things worked. Everything that moved, moved through space. It moved on ships, and ships had crews. Ships moved along shipping lanes and were seen by other ships. Disasters, prodigies, pirate attacks, new settlements, and new wars—it all flowed through the universe like everything else, carried on the ships. 

Space-bar tales were as grossly distorted as a body after explosive decompression, degraded by countless light-years of retransmission, and definitely not to be trusted. But there were sometimes kernels of truth at the core of even a drunkard's maunderings. 

Gamora knew how to look and how to listen. She had been hunting the spaceways for a long time; it would give her a place to start. Thanos was out there somewhere, and he wasn't a low-profile kind of guy, as Peter Quill would say. She would find Thanos, and then she would kill him.

The noise-level in the bar dipped around an appreciative catcall. Gamora glanced at the door and bared her teeth in a prescient appreciation.

There was a gurgle as the catcaller was lifted by his throat from his seat. "You have given me offense. Allow me to repay you in kind, you misbegotten dribbling from the bowels of an impotent worm."

The floor rattled as the unfortunate admirer was unceremoniously dropped. The entire bar was silent except for the click of metal-shod feet as they approached Gamora's table.

"Lady Gamora."

Gamora looked up through her lashes into a pair of blazing eyes. "Angela. I wouldn't have expected to meet you here."

Angela pulled out the chair across from her and sat, resting an elbow on the back. It did lovely things to her breasts and new cuirass. "I came looking for you."

"I am the only thing worth looking for on this dungheap."

"You owe me," Angela said.

"I do," Gamora agreed, a sultry smile curling her lips. "Would you like something to drink? The liquor here is strong enough that nothing unhealthful could possibly survive in it. That is its one virtue."

"I had in mind a sweeter nectar," Angela said, her ribbons curling through the air.

"We could check to see if they have it on the top shelf. If this flark-hole has a top shelf."

Angela's eyes narrowed into luminous slits. "You toy with me." 

"I like you riled up."

Gamora's cloak swirled around her ankles as she rose. Her own eyes saw things differently now. It was not just the way that shadows fell on her; it was how they lay on everything. 

"I like the new look," she said conversationally as they stepped into the blue-hued daylight of this backwater world. "I'd have said before, but we were a little busy."

Angela's armour gleamed, all sharp points and gorgeous curves. The sheer implausibility of the way the metal flexed with her movements was itself obscene.

"You have changed as well, acquired some new power. It becomes you." Angela liked to keep everything balanced, even compliments. But she always gave fair value. "Have you a ship hereabouts, Lady Gamora? I have seen no sign of your companions."

"They do tend to make themselves known," Gamora said a little wistfully. "You've been gone a while, Angela. I don't need a ship to travel anymore."

"Then let us fly."

With no more warning, Angela unfurled glorious wings with feathers like knives that rang against each other in steely music. People walking down the street had to run to avoid them as they beat the air.

Gamora _liked_ flying. They left the atmosphere, breaking into what should have been a cold and horrible death in vacuum. 

"Follow me," Gamora said and they danced together through the stars until they came to an isolated place, remote and unpolluted. 

Angela's wings flared as she came to a stop. Her mouth formed a pleased line and her breath had quickened, exhilarated by the chase. She reached out behind her, her hand not quite touching Gamora's shoulder, transfixed by the majesty of the sight before them. Gamora smirked a little smugly.

"It is...glorious," Angela breathed. "This is more than I am owed."

Colour exploded against the dark backdrop of space, so bright it drowned out the distant sparks behind it, leaving only a sweep of endless blackness from which it stood out all the more vividly. Even from millions of light-years away, its size dwarfed them.

It was the collision of two galaxies. On this scale they moved slowly, spinning into each other edge-on. Crossing each other at the crux of the impact, ghostly tails trailed behind them in luminous wakes. Living stars shimmered like gold and copper dust over sweeping drifts of paler blues and browns and pinks. Solitary points of blue-white fire burned like a net of living diamonds. An enormous swathe of red spilled across the jointure of the two galaxies, where they began to curl into one another.

Gamora turned away from the spectacle and looked askance at her. "It's really not."

She put her hand over Angela's and completed the contact for her. They drifted closer in the silence. Angela's hair billowed in its fiery crest, much like her ribbons. They reached out further, curling around them both. 

Other times, Angela had tasted like blood and char, like mint in the mornings, adrenaline, or the distilled bitters she favoured as drink. Now she tasted like the fire in her heart and the iron of the knife's edge she walked. Gamora wondered if this was what it would be for her from now on. What had the mirror really made of her?

Their clothing melted away, leaving Angela in nothing but ribbons and wings. How did those things not get cut? Then again, being able to just wish away her wardrobe was still less than normal to Gamora. In addition, she decidedly did _not_ need Peter Quill's voice in her head at this moment. How Earthers could simultaneously be such good and terrible influences...

Angela skated her teeth over Gamora's lower lip, no doubt sensing she had lost her full attention. Gamora wasn't one hundred per cent certain she wouldn't rip her face off if she started feeling ill-used. A woman after her own heart. 

Her breast was full in Gamora's hand. So many beings had such soft skin, no matter how the years hardened their spirits. The insides so rarely matched the outsides of things. 

She could see why the Earthers' even more primitive ancestors had hailed Angela's people as gods and the word angel was synonymous with perfection. She was strong, supple, and curved like an artisan blade. Statues might weep in envy. Enemies might weep in despair.

Her touch, now, was all callus and roughness, and that was Angela. She kissed insistently, always wanting Gamora close. 

Gamora had her own goals. Their kisses had an unsurprising tendency to become contests, and Gamora was interested to discover that, at least out here, stopping for breath was no longer a limitation. That had always seemed a little unfair of Angela before, not that Gamora didn't appreciate a challenge in a fight.

Her thumb rubbed over Angela's nipple, raising it so it was easier to pinch. When a lady chose to tattoo nothing but her eyes, breasts, and groin, that told you some things about her. Gamora could take a hint. 

Angela's markings were bright as iron-rich blood against her pale skin, jagged lines evoking rips in flesh. It was an acknowledgement of the passion shared by wrath and arousal and a reminder of death in the act of giving life. 

Behind her, the two immense clouds of stars turned against each other, mingling but not merging, like two vast, luminescent cyclones crashing together. At this range, the sheer immensity just grazed the edges of mortal comprehension, surrounding Angela and the wings that she spread wide as she arched at Gamora's touch. 

Angela's hands tightened on her ass; Angela was not subtle. She palmed the small of Gamora's back, grazing neatly trimmed nails over her short ribs to her stomach. The warm rasp of her warrior's hand drew a broad line up from Gamora's belly to her throat and returned a shiver of heat down to her groin.

The next twist of Gamora's fingers was answered with the definite scrape of nails along the arteries in her neck. She nipped at Angela's tongue in her mouth, undeterred. The hand still on her ass was kneading in time to her fiddling with Angela's nipple. 

She used her grip to tilt Gamora's head, closing her teeth with precision on the lobe of her ear. Gamora made a pleased sound at the feeling of Angela's tongue. She slid her thigh between Angela's and hooked their knees together, creating an opening. 

Gamora threaded her fingers through her hair, pulling it by the roots, scratching her scalp, and curling her fingers at the back of her neck, holding her in place. Her other hand stroked Angela's thigh, tracing and retracing the muscles under smooth and tender skin, tantalisingly close to her goal.

The scent of arousal came clearly with no other particles to dilute it. Angela breathed hot words into her ear, demanding. 

"Tell me, lover," Gamora murmured, tracing a solitary fingertip along the crease of her thigh.

The sound of frustrated desire that rose in Angela's throat was like music. "My tongue will pierce you like a sword," she said.

Gamora cupped her palm over the mound of her cunt, its lips just barely parted by the spread of her legs. 

"No wound you've suffered or victory wine will flow as freely as your juices."

A delicate touch, along the wetly splitting seam. Back and forth and up to smear the clitoris. Angela's hips began to follow her, and Gamora shifted to augment the pressure of Angela's thigh on her own cunt. 

Angela stroked her throat approvingly and continued lowly. "Your cries—"

She gasped as Gamora slid a finger inside, where even Angela was soft.

"—cries will ring to the very firmaments and all the stars will know my name from your lips," Angela promised.

They pressed together now, Angela's grip shifting so she could bite Gamora's neck. Her teeth didn't sink quite deep enough that Gamora worried about having her throat torn out in a fit of passion, but they were definitely going to explore how well cosmic energy dealt with bruises. 

Angela's hands made free of her while her ribbons anchored them together. Gamora slid another finger in, then another, curling and probing to elicit sharp cries buried in her flesh. Grinding down onto Angela's unyielding thigh, she tortured herself as much as Angela with the shifting rhythms of her hand. Her thumb rubbed and flicked, slipping in Angela's slickness. Gamora's desire shifted to a mounting tension and she scraped the edge of her nail along Angela's clit, and again, and again, and pressed circles hard against it until Angela came.

Angela clenched around her tightly enough that Gamora could probably break a finger if she wasn't careful. She coaxed Angela through it with gentler motions until the last flickers of orgasm had petered out. It took a while; watching Angela come was always impressive.

Gamora was still hanging on the desperate side of release, intensely aware of every place their bodies touched, their breasts compressing between them, hair sticking to everything, Angela's ribbons shifting around her limbs.

They pulled her back, just a little, just enough for Angela to drift down and start mouthing kisses onto Gamora's breasts and stomach. She curled her tongue into Gamora's navel, a reminder of her promises.

Angela buried her face between Gamora's legs and breathed deeply. Finding Gamora already wet, she lapped her taste from her inner thighs and around the lips of her cunt before licking inside.

Gamora fought back the moans that wanted to escape her lips because that was part of the challenge. Angela was as skilful with her tongue as a blade, that much was true. She was savage, powerful, and struck to the heart. 

Out here, up and down were relative concepts, with no gravity to define them. A shift of angle and balance, and Gamora was riding Angela's face. Her tongue was hot and mobile, thrusting in and wriggling out, laving Gamora's clit only to scrape it with her teeth.

She came and came again, and Angela kept going. Sometimes, Gamora thought she just got a little carried away enjoying herself. But that was all right. Angela would keep coming back as long as Gamora owed her orgasms; and maybe that was the real reason. Either way, it was very flattering, considering the source. And Gamora did so enjoy making it up to her.

She had lost count before Angela decided she was done with her, although Angela absolutely got off on keeping track. Well, she'd had lovers with odder fetishes. Gamora felt delightfully wrung out and not all inclined to complain. She stretched and petted Angela fondly as they floated around face-to-face. Angela looked pleased with her work.

Gamora made a contented sound. "Now, why don't we go pick a fight?"

"Actually, I had something in mind." 

 

_The_ Captain America  
_Entering the Sol system_  
_3014_

"You wanted to try and use the Old Hunger like a doggie-door, well, this is the fastest way."

"She is correct, Vance," Martinex confirmed, although the look he cast Nikki sitting in the co-pilot's seat was still less than trusting. A quick scan of the ship logs had confirmed she was a member of _some_ form of the Guardians of the Galaxy. Dinking time-flark.

For Vance, it was enough to warrant thawing her back out. This Nikki was impulsive and undisciplined, but obviously had some useful skill-sets. She came with a spaceship, and as a rule Vance took all the help he could get.

Besides, her Mercurian hair and high core-temp had already been melting through Martinex's quick-freeze.

"I know. Call me superstitious, but however flarked things are, they always get maxiflarked whenever we go back to Earth," Vance said.

"You are superstitious," Martinex said. Vance snorted. "But also, in the main, correct."

"Hah."

"Well, we're not stopping this time, boys," Nikki told them, "just passing by. So long as those Badoon gronads stay outta my way."

"Unfortunately, this time it's us who need to stay out of theirs," Starhawk told her.

Their mission now was for more than Earth. If they didn't hook back up with Charlie 27 and Geena and fix what was wrong with the past, there wouldn't be any future for them to fight the Badoon in. But Vance couldn't help looking at that beautiful blue ball up on the viz screens. _Someday_ , he promised silently. _Someday. Earth_ will _overcome._

A tense silence fell, interrupted only by the subliminal tek-hum of the ship and Nikki's fingers drumming on the console next to the weapons controls. Vance shifted on his feet just to remind himself he could move: a thousand years was a long time in which to form negative associations. 

The ship rattled around them: impact.

"Well, that was nice while it lasted," Nikki said sarcastically, switching the weapons live. "Come and get it, dinkwafts."

Starhawk shook his head. "That was not the Badoon. Look."

"He's right; the energy profile's all wrong for a Badoon or any other type of ship. This is something else."

"You scan what?" Vance asked, leaning in to get a better view of the display. 

"Do you remember how we were worried about time and reality disintegrating?" Starhawk asked.

That definitely was not a ship, although the Badoon had finally scoped them and started scrambling in their direction. There was some kind of something ripping open right on top of them. "Das't. Time to slam out, maxifast."

"Take it," Martinex said, throwing himself out of the hot-seat. 

Vance dove for the controls. He bit back a curse at the unfamiliar mass and reaction but got her turned about and shot through an opening in the converging ships.

"Your ship's dragging," he told Nikki, fighting the yoke. 

"It's _your_ ship!" she protested. 

"No, it's—motherflark." Space was cracking around them like thin ice. "Hang on!"

Dodging the Badoon and the spreading fissures was forcing him down into the atmosphere. Not good. This version of the _Captain America_ was faster than he was used, but also bigger. Way she was handling, he thought they'd been garked by something, the anomalies if not the Badoon.

Stuff was everywhere, _everywhere_ ; he couldn't find anyplace to put the ship, even with Nikki blasting flat-out. They slewed around crazily until even she was complaining and everybody was scrambling for the crash restraints. 

"Your left!" Nikki shouted. 

Vance dropped their nose and let the Badoon behind them run headlong into nonexistence. Just looking out the viewport hurt his eyes so he had to start navigating by scan. An old, old flash of memory came up of some actress whose name he'd forgotten doing blind acrobatics through an invisible laser-web.

Then the screen glitched. Vance couldn't get his eyes to focus, but he could tell where the ground was. The artificial grav whined as the sudden dive stressed its capacitors. 

He pulled up hard before the altimeter bottomed out and found himself in a maze of rusting—

"I recognise that building," Martinex said from behind him. "We're in New York."

Vance just wanted not to smash into anything, big grat. "What are the chances?"

"What makes you think any of this is chance?" Starhawk asked. 

"You mean someone's flarking up this bad on purpose?" Nikki muttered.

The Badoon were catching up with them again. Nikki garked one going high and it spun off into the ruins of a skyscraper, sending chunks of debris and steel girders tumbling down. 

It hit them and knocked off something that had probably been hanging by wires before. The _Captain America_ wobbled dangerously.

Vance managed to avoid the next building, but they went into a spin he couldn't pull out of.

"Teleport! Teleport!" he yelled.

Either it really was his ship and programmed to his voice, or Nikki realised she was the only one who knew how to work the controls; but suddenly instead of crashing they were being thrown across a ruined courtyard. 

Vance's relief was short-lived: the ship was coming down on top of them. It was kind of a big ship. Real nice.

Also about to smash him flat. Vance leapt backward, using his TK to boost his jump. The concussion still blasted him another twenty meters, over the a wall. Everyone else had jumped the other way. Vance had a nagging feeling he'd forgotten about something important as—something—swallowed him. The last thing he remembered seeing was a familiar letter on a familiar arch over an empty gate. 

 

_Interstellar space_  
_Now_

"Are you sure?" asked Jesse Alexander.

"See for yourself." Ywaii the Mangler gestured at the control readout with one of his lower arms.

"If only I'd paid more attention to my Chitauri lessons in school." Jesse scanned the readouts, trying not to feel home receding from him. _Eva, Kaelynn, Sam, where are you?_

Jesse swallowed down the pang with the aid of too-long practice. No matter how much he wanted to turn this ship around and make full speed for Earth, he had a responsibility to see these people returned to their own homes first. God knew someone had to keep a level head on this boat; Jesse was just as surprised as anyone else that it was him.

Plus, if he showed up in Earth orbit in a Chitauri ship full of alien gladiators there was like a seventy per cent chance that the Avengers or someone would blow them out of the sky on sight.

Of course, that begged the question of whether any of them could get home now. The Chitauri weren't very good about updating their star-charts, apparently, because the last system they'd jumped into had been full of pirates and not the prosperous neutral world they'd been counting on. 

"Food's getting low, too. That's sure to improve everyone's mood," Ywaii continued. 

Jesse grunted in agreement. The _Odysseus_ (well, they had to call the ship _something_ , and he'd liked the story when Sam had had to read it for school) had warped out as fast as she'd warped in, naturally. Most pirates would sell crews along with the ship and cargo, if they didn't just shoot you outright. None of them wanted to go through _that_ again, although a fair number had been in favour of blasting the sons of bitches out of the sky. 

Jesse had managed to persuade RrRRrR the Fang at the helm that they probably couldn't destroy an entire Haffensye armada through sheer force of visceral rage, but a lot of the cohort were still grumbling about it. These were people who were used to fighting for their lives on a regular basis: all the moderation had been systematically beaten out of them. Jesse did not like the mood that was developing.

Especially when they found out how low they were on fuel. They'd made it onto the main shipping lanes, so there was a decent chance someone would stumble across them eventually once they were adrift. It might be good guys, or it might be, say, more space-pirates. Or starvation. Starvation was always fun. 

"How long you wanna bet before this lot starts eating each other?" 

Jesse shot him an unamused look. "Just do me a favour and don't go out of your way to suggest it to them, okay?"

Ywaii shook his head. "We got almost half of us home; that's something, anyway."

"It's not enough." Jesse stared at the half-incomprehensible readout as though willing it to change. "Come on."

Ywaii hurried to catch up with him. "You are not actually thinking of trying to talk to them, are you?"

"When do you think it's better they find out? Now, when we've still got a chance to make it somewhere, or when we're dead in space?"

"I think we should close the blast doors and let them riot until they pass out," Ywaii muttered.

"We'll call that Plan B." Jesse clapped him on the shoulder.

"Listen up," Jesse said as he swung into the galley. 

No one paid him any attention. There were about thirty of the former slave gladiators left. Ywaii was right, they'd made good progress since their escape from the Chitauri. A convoy on its way out towards Kree space had picked up almost two dozen last week. Some of those with no homes to go back to had elected to stay to crew the ship as their numbers dropped; some drifted off at various ports of call.

The ones who were left spent a lot of time here in the galley. The Chitauri had kept them separate when they weren't fighting (there was still some fighting, but mostly no one had ended up dead; Eva was right, he needed therapy; he needed _so much_ therapy), and Jesse was sure most of them felt as isolated and homesick as he did, even if they'd rather swallow their own krutacks than admit it. You were hard pressed to even find two people of the same species around here. 

"Hey!" Jesse tried again.

A few people looked up. One of them yawned.

Jessed jumped up onto one of the tables. "Hey, flark-hats!" he bellowed at the top of his lungs.

Well, that worked. Everyone scowled at him. Jesse scowled back.

"Listen up. That last warp jump we made took us pretty low on fuel."

"What?"

"I told you!" 

"I knew we should have stood and fought!" Hraak the Bonecrucher squawked. "We could have ten ships now instead of one! We'd all be on our way home by now."

_Rabble-rouser_. "Or blown to pieces, or back in a cage somewhere."

"I would rather die!" 

"And I would rather go home!" Jesse yelled back. "But I'm stuck here with you smelly bastards. Look, we've got enough for one more jump. It'll put us at a nexus; someone's more likely to stop there."

"You have a lot of faith in people," Goronto the Mace rumbled. "Half the ships on these routes are already full of refugees."

"So they're more likely to understand. We've made it this far, comrades. We're strong; we're fighters: we'll survive."

That got a deafening roar of approval.

Jesse turned to hop down, then remembered something. "Oh, and I know how delicious this grub is, but go easy when you're stuffing your beautiful faces. It may have to last us a while."

He came down face-to-face with Hraak. Lady looked like she was about to have an aneurism. "You will be the death of us all!"

"Good talk," Jesse told her. Then he hauled back and punched Hraak in the side of the head. There were some things, he decided, that he'd leave out when he told this story to the family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Progress report: I'm officially into the epilogue. Word-count stands at over 134k. Also, anyone interested in betaing? :D


	4. Chapter 4

_Mount Wundagore_  
_Transia/The New York Bight_

The day dawned grey and cloudy, but Vance wasn't looking out the windows. There had been a tension, an excitement bubbling up in him since Chris showed up. This was serious stuff, Vance knew that, but... _space_. 

"Would you stop humming?" Kaine asked irritably. 

"Hm? Oh, sorry."

"What's got you in such a good mood? I thought you were supposed to be studying space-maps, not looking at porn."

"Real classy," Vance replied. "I'm not— I—look. What I said before, I really did want to be an astronaut when I was a kid. I mean, I'm happy with my life now; I like what I do. It's something that really matters, and that's important to me." He glanced up to see Kaine's reaction.

"Huh," Kaine said, sipping his coffee. Vance had given up a while ago trying to predict Kaine's sleep cycle, but he was up early today. "I guess that explains the jeans with all the stars and crap on them in your dresser."

"Those were a present from Robbie. Because he's an asshole." And because he knew Vance way too well.

"Uh-huh."

Kaine was getting to know him pretty well, too. That was...nice, actually.

"Have you ever gone up before?"

"To space?" Kaine asked. "Hell, no. The tiny universe was bad enough. What about you?"

_...The microverse?_ "Oh, to orbit once or twice; the moon, you know. I missed the only time the team went into deep space; that was a Nova thing, too."

Kaine squinted at him. "You are such a dork."

Vance gave up fighting the smile that wanted to spread across his face and hung his head a little bashfully. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Kaine raise his mug again to hide a smile of his own.

"Will you two give it a rest?" Robbie asked from the door. "None of the _rest_ of us are getting any, you know."

"If I were you, I wouldn't make assumptions about Sil's love life," Vance said unconcernedly.

Robbie made a face, not disagreeing. "You hear from Sam yet?"

Vance glanced at the clock. "It's only six am in Arizona. We probably won't hear from him until this afternoon. He won't be done with school until tomorrow anyway."

"That is seriously lame." Robbie heaved a sigh and wandered over to the X-Box.

The others wandered in over the course of the morning. Mark and Faira lived on-base full-time like he and Robbie did. For most of them, it was just practical; but Mark had barely seen his family since his terrigenesis. They had been, perhaps understandably, freaked out by Mark turning into a sort of dragon and the people trying to kill them. So far as Vance knew, he hadn't even tried to talk with them since.

For once, despite the horn in the middle of his forehead, he looked like a normal kid, duking it out against Aracely in Super Smash. Aracely split her time between Wundagore and Houston. Vance could guess the reason he'd never been introduced to the woman who usually put her up in the city. It was understandable, considering how well things had gone when the team bumped into _his_ ex.

Sil popped out of the shadows around lunchtime, water dusting her shoulders and short hair. It looked like she was wearing business casual; but since they came through the darkforce with her, Vance was willing to bet her clothes were really third-gen unstable molecules. The new versions could mimic anything with a moment's concentration: you'd never need to buy clothes again, as long as you didn't mind doing laundry every other day. 

Sil went to dump her bag in what was nominally her room, although she hardly ever used it. Vance didn't see a bag, but he, Robbie, and Chris didn't say anything. The darkforce was kind of like really creepy hammerspace, and having her hands occupied with forearm braces just walking meant they weren't free for carrying things. 

Learning that Sam hadn't made contact yet, Sil disappeared once more into the shadows. Back to work. Vance kept himself busy alerting various entities of their impending launch. He'd like to be able to come back sometime, after all.

"Lot of new faces," Chris said, looking around. 

"It's been a while." The four of them represented the old guard. 

"That Atlantean chick is a little touchy."

Robbie, who was spinning in a station chair, snorted. "Look who's talking."

"I'm learning to use it. It's helping me control the armour instead of the other way around. I can do things I never imagined before. And I need to," he added, going serious.

"If you knew Namorita and maybe Rich were out there, why didn't you tell anybody before this?" Vance asked carefully.

"Well, I got laid up for a while. Side-tracked. I didn't even know about the Nova kid until Rob told me about this idea of his."

"Since we're on the subject, how _did_ Namorita end up out there with you guys, anyway?" Robbie asked, belatedly glancing around to make sure Faira was out of earshot. "Was it something PEGASUS was doing?"

Chris shook his head. "No, there was this whole weird thing with the Sphinx. I ran into Rich out by the Fault—you know about the Fault?"

"More or less," Vance said.

"Right, so the Sphinx was going all Kang versus Immortus, in a deadlock with himself inside there, and they both started grabbing people to try and tip the balance. One of them was Namorita. Only it was Namorita from, like, years ago. She wasn't even blue yet. And when it was all over, Rich just...grabbed her and she didn't go back."

"Wow," Vance said. "That's just...wow."

"Time stuff," Chris commiserated. "There was a guy hanging around with Cap's shield, too, and it definitely wasn't the Falcon. Namorita and Major Victory were the last ones to see Rich alive."

Vance choked. "Wait, did you say Major Victory?"

"Yeah, Major Victory. Why?" Chris asked.

"That's me. Or not-me." He turned to Robbie. "Remember when I told you guys my future self visited me when I was a kid? My powers manifested then and it changed things."

Robbie raised his eyebrows. "Dude, this is that guy?"

"And he's got Cap's shield?" Vance couldn't help a note of wistfulness from creeping into his voice.

Robbie grinned. "You're regretting not becoming an astronaut, aren't you?"

"...Just a little bit," he admitted.

"You should send the Guardians a message, though. I think future you has amnesia or something," Chris told him. "And he's taller than you."

"Yeah, well, he toughed it out and joined the Air Force; he didn't run away and grow up on circus peanuts," Vance said. 

Across the room, he caught sight of Mark heading back out into the hall. "Hey, can I catch you guys later?"

Robbie waved him away, and Vance followed Mark out of the rec room. Mark heard his footsteps and turned to see who it was, slowing a little reluctantly to let him catch up.

"Hey, Mark."

"Hey," Mark replied softly.

"Look, I wanted to ask—" Mark's expression grew closed; Vance persisted. "—I wanted to ask if you'd told your family you were going to be gone."

Vance hadn't wanted to put Mark on the spot in front of the team, but he was running out of time to face up to the issue.

"Vance—"

"Hear me out. This isn't a road trip. We don't know where we're going or what we're getting into. Best case, it's a smooth ride to wherever Rob Rider is and we watch him trace his brother through Sam's helmet, then come back home. But it's gotten pretty rough out there lately. I know you're freaked out and so was your grandmother, but do you really think she wouldn't want to know if anything happened to you? Or your sisters?"

Mark was silent. Vance watched him, then added, "I still have some contacts in the Avengers. They know what we're doing. Even if you just have a friend or something, someone your grandmother will listen to, they can get in contact. Just in case."

After a long moment, Mark nodded shortly. "I'll...think about it."

Vance clapped him on the shoulder. "You don't have to go, you know. It's okay if you want to stay here. Queen Medusa will put you up. It'll probably be good for you."

"Don't you want my help?"

The question caught him off-guard. "It means a lot to me that all of you have joined this team. I just don't want you to feel obligated because we're the ones who picked you up. You need to do what's right for you."

Mark nodded again, his expression still very inward. Vance couldn't say he was free of doubts himself. _God, I do not want to get this kid killed._

Vance got a call from Eva Alexander not long after his conversation with Mark. He listened politely, assured her that the whole team was in fact going in support of Sam and that they did indeed have a spaceship, and that they would do everything they could to locate her husband and return him safe and sound. 

"It looks like it's the season for lost Novas," he told her in an effort to lighten the tone. 

"Good luck," she said after a silent beat. "And take care of my boy."

One corner of Vance's mouth kicked up at the pained _Moooom_ that sounded in the background. "I will, Mrs Alexander. I'll do everything I can to bring both of them back safe." _All of them._ It was time to find out what had happened to his friends, once and for all.

They ended up waiting for Sil to come off-shift even after Sam rocketed in. He could have gone to school after all, but watching him bounce around in nervous anticipation made Vance think that would have been a cruel thing to do to his teachers.

"Everyone remember to pack everything?" Robbie asked. "Socks? Underwear? Traveller's cheques?" 

"Earplugs..." Selah suggested.

Wundagore Mountain was now solidly in Transia. Vance was standing next to Jake Waffles at the controls, closely observing everything he did. 

"Are there seatbelts on this thing?" Kaine asked, looking around uncertainly.

Jake Waffles glanced up at him, amusement on his canine face. "Please. Who do you think designed this, Mister Fantastic? We have inertial dampers."

" _You are go for launch, Wundagore,_ " a SWORD agent said over the com.

"Thank you. Whenever you're ready, Mister Waffles," Vance told him.

"Taking her up."

A low hum rumbled up from the depths of the base. The walls shivered, and outside the windows the mountain ridges slowly started to fall away below them. The sky was blue and open like a promise. Vance watched, breathless, as its hue deepened. Stars faded in, growing clearer and brighter, more and more until there was a river of them stretching across the heavens. 

Vance snuck a look at Kaine, who was standing with his mask off and his lips parted. Sensing he was being watched, he looked over to meet Vance's eyes. 

Robbie broke the moment. "Hey, where are we going, anyway?"

 

_Arakor, on the fringes of Shi'ar space_  
_Months ago_

Malik Tarcel looked up. He didn't know why he still looked up; this planet was far off the main space lanes. The only settlements were underwater, in the middle of an ocean. That was why they'd landed here. 

They'd been on the run from the Shi'ar who had captured and imprisoned Tarcel. It had only been supposed to be for a few hours, maybe a day while the search radius passed over them and his people turned their attention back to more pressing affairs. 

His people. As far as _his people_ were concerned, Tarcel had sided with the Nova Corps against them. Hatred simmered in his heart for Emperor Vulcan. He was a madman. He wasn't even Shi'ar! There was no telling how long they had been stranded: Tarcel was unfamiliar with this planet's astrographic cycles. In that ever-lengthening time, who knew what had become of the Aerie? Of the Corps?

Mere hours after Tarcel and the centurion who called himself Garthan Saal had touched down on this planet, their helmets had gone dead. No Nova Force, no Worldmind interface, not even coms. And just like that, their refuge had become a trap. 

Since that time, what Tarcel had learned about Saal was that he was a flarking lunatic. Not a complete surprise; he'd seemed a little off when he snatched Tarcel off of the imperial flagship, but then Tarcel hadn't been in the clearest mental state himself. Nor in a position to be choosy. 

There had been a great deal of howling and also throwing of the helmet, which seemed to have further broken it. Tarcel had just started walking. If he went far enough, he'd find a shore; that would be his only chance at making contact with the settlers or anyone coming to trade with them.

That wasn't the real reason, though. Tarcel couldn't just sit around whining. He was free, and so long as he was free, he would at least be moving.

Saal trailed along, sometimes raving, sometimes holding his tongue. Tarcel thanked Sharra and K'ythri he wasn't alone, but he also hadn't slept soundly since they got here. Sometimes, Tarcel amused himself at night by trying to calculate the distance they'd come overland using the stars, but that was a lot of math to do in his head. 

It was day when Tarcel looked up and saw something in the sky. He'd just finished pissing into some bushes, so there was one less thing to worry about. Staying alive on this planet really was ludicrously easy. The vegetation had reached a much more mature state in its evolution than the land animals.

"Saal, do you see that?"

The rapt expression on Saal's face was answer enough. Tarcel gripped the abominably crude spear he'd managed to fashion and debated trying to find cover. There wasn't much, and anything space-worthy ought to be able to pick up life-readings through vegetation.

It really did look like it was heading towards them. Actually, it looked familiar. Tarcel felt a huge weight of tension ease from between his shoulders. Saal glanced his way, then did a double-take.

"What?" Tarcel asked.

"You're smiling," Saal said.

Tarcel did his best to correct that. Richard Rider and his allies might not have supported his deployment of the Nova Corps, but humans were notoriously soft-hearted. What landed on the hill was a figure and not a ship, armoured, helmeted, and winged in metal, with a gem set into its cuirass. And, despite appearances, human.

"Darkhawk," Tarcel greeted him. "I am Malik Tarcel, the Nova Prime. How did you find us? What has happened to the corps?"

"The Datasong led me to you; I begin to understand why. You are familiar with Darkhawk?" 

Tarcel blinked once. "Aren't you Darkhawk?" Wait, hadn't Darkhawk's gem been red? 

"I am Shir Ydrn Talonis, and I am here to offer you a way off of this planet. I am here to offer you power."

That was very, very old Shi'ar. Tarcel eyed this Talonis with new consideration.

"Picturesque though it is, I do tire of being unwashed," he said.

"We are Nova Centurions!" Saal objected. 

Talonis turned his helmet towards him. "The Nova Corps is gone; you might as well wear a cooking pot on your head."

The blood drained from Saal's face. "No. Not again. I swore it wouldn't happen again!" he screamed.

"Peace," Talonis snapped. 

" _You do not understand!_ " Saal wailed. 

"Do I not?" Talonis asked sharply. "I am alone as you are alone, the last servant of a force for good in the universe. We are the light and the givers of light. That is why I have come, to ask you to join me, to fight by my side for the betterment of all peoples." 

Talonis opened his hand; in it were two amulets like the jewel on his cuirass. One was amber; the other was the smoky grey of a storm. "To become my brothers."

Tarcel looked to Saal. He owed Saal for rescuing him. And hadn't this prolonged exile driven Tarcel himself half-mad? 

"Saal," he said. "We knew it was likely. Is it not better to move on? There is still the work of the Nova Corps; that is what he is saying."

Saal's expression remained inward and troubled. Abruptly, he nodded. "In memory of Xandar," he said, reaching out to take one of the crystals from Talonis' hand.

Tarcel took the other one and hung it around his neck. It was heavier than it looked, lying grey and sombre against the remains of his uniform. 

There was a new sound on the edge of his hearing. It was as though something suddenly underlay the now-familiar noises of wind through the native vegetation and chittering of lower life-forms, a melody so complex it was almost language. It described the movement of each falling leaf, each ray of light with beautiful precision. Tarcel was overwhelmed by the sheer majesty of the song.

In less than a minute, there were three armoured figures standing on the hill. Talonis looked on them in satisfaction.

"Tercel and Gos," he said. "My brothers."

 

_T. D. Polyviv Refugee Rehab and Relocation Centre_  
_Tyvorn Cluster_

"Hey, Major! Over here!"

Vance craned his neck over his shoulder and waved at Irt outside the ship's hatch before nanowelding the last connexion in the console he was working on and closing up the casing. There were always ships coming in in need of repair, and Vance had apparently learned how to cobble workable units together in the future. He was still a little vague on a lot of things, but he mostly got the job done. It was only every so often that he found himself wanting to use tech that didn't seem to have been invented yet.

Working on space-ships was not quite as exciting as flying spaceships into battle, but that was like saying building a lightsaber wasn't as exciting as using one to fight: the cool factor was still maxihigh.

Vance might or might not have been perpetually on the lookout for alien laser swords: there were a lot of aliens; someone _had_ to have invented a laser sword.

It took more than star-fighters and weapons to build a future, though. Right now, this was what people needed: reliable transport for their goods and families. Vance felt the weight of the shield on his back and had to smile. He wondered if a lightsaber could cut through vibranium.

"Irt. Need something?" he asked, leaning out the ship's back hatch.

Irt fluttered one many-jointed hand at a group of people. "You have visitors."

Vance followed the gesture, drawing himself up warily. They were...familiar. He blinked, remembering. They were from the _future_.

"Vance!" A human girl clanking with weaponry threw herself at him. 

Vance brought his arms up automatically to catch her. "...Geena?" He didn't know where the name came from, but it seemed to be the right one.

Irt made a motion with her head. "You do know them, then. Just remember, that ship needs to be fixed by the end of the cycle."

"Big grat, Irt," Vance said automatically. 

He held Geena back from himself to look at her, trying to force memory. She should have been a fresh-faced young woman, but there were lines and weight to her features. Vance saw a lot of that around here. The hard sun made her fiery hair glow; she'd end up with more freckles if she stayed long. 

He'd known Starhawk's name, too, but nothing else until Kang had sent him forward again with this era's Guardians. Geena hadn't been with any of those teams, though. Vance felt again that frustrating sensation that he was missing something important. 

"You do remember me, don't you?" Geena asked, suddenly unsure, sharp brown eyes searching his masked face for recognition..

"Almost. What are you all doing here?" 

The huge man spoke next; Vance was abruptly certain that the Centaurian, Yondu, spoke much more rarely. Charlie-27. Jovian, bred for supergravity. Vance had encountered versions of him and Yondu on that adventure, but had never had the time— _be honest: never_ taken _the time_ —to explore their unsettling familiarity. Vance had never expected to see them again. After—after—he still _felt_ what it had been like, a thousand years alone only to find his hopes and home a wreckage of themselves. It came on him sometimes in the middle of the night, lying like he had in the cryo-pod, going slowly mad; and now he had suddenly lost years instead of centuries. There was even the dream of going home. 

An untouchable home. A home and a world he'd willingly checked out of. Someone else's home.

Things that must have been working their way to the surface ever since that bewildering tumble through time were floating up now. Charlie was his friend, a solid wall at his back in more ways than one. 

"What are _we_ doing here?" Charlie-27 was asking. "What are _you_ doing here? You were supposed to follow us, numpkiss. What did you do, get lost?"

"Why were we coming back?" It seemed newly urgent that he understand. 

Geena frowned up at him, Geena Drake with her freckles and her guns. Geena had been the confused one. She clutched his arms like she could make him remember through force of will. And who knew with Geena Drake?

"Something happens in this time to gark the future. Star-Lord picked up our pod and took us through the Old Hunger like we planned. We landed on ancient Earth and fought this maxiflarker called Korvac. We stopped him from rearranging reality, but he got away. How did _you_ get here? Are the others with you? Did they make it?"

"Others...? What was Star-Lord doing—? Quill?" Vance finally took notice of the last member of the group.

"Yes?"

Vance squinted. His target array hadn't identified it as Peter Quill, which was why he hadn't made the connexion earlier. "Did you dye your hair?"

"...No?"

"I think he means the other Star-Lord," Yondu said. "He's the one who told us where you were. This one let us use his ship to come back in time. It's probably not worth trying to keep them straight: they seem very similar and they're related."

"Ah." Vance frowned, thinking. "The other Star-Lord and his team found me frozen in limbo ice a couple years back. Said I'd fallen through some kind of fissure, but I don't remember. I don't remember a lot."

Charlie-27 clapped him on the back; Vance was grateful he wore the shield like he did. "Don't worry; we'll fill you in."

His grin was decidedly untrustworthy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just in case anyone was wondering, I have finally finished this story! The final word-count comes in at over 138k, just so you all know what you're getting into. I still have some things I want to tweak and maybe a scene or two to add, but you can expect regular updates from now on.


	5. Chapter 5

_Intergalactic space_

"The fluctuations are becoming a problem."

"Oh dinking really?"

"Can you be serious?"

"I am serious; lemme go max whoever's flarking with us: problem solved."

"I think you know why we can't do _that_."

"Whatevermind."

"Engaging in battle may result in greater fluctuations: exactly what we wish to avoid. We can no longer afford that risk."

"I told you guys, I get it. But all that means is that we should have garked whoever it is back when this all started."

"That is not what we do."

"Ugh."

"This calls for more subtlety."

Silence.

"I will go."

"Are you certain?"

"I am one—"

"I swear, if you finish that maxiflarking sentence—"

 

_Knowhere_   
_The literal end of the universe_

"Ugh." Selah shuddered

"Are you all right?" Vance asked.

"Sorry, but we are standing _inside of a severed head_. That is just creepy."

Vance looked around the busy marketplace Sam was leading them through. It was filled with the vibrant chaos of any city centre, sounds and smells and colours mixing into a full-sensory bombardment that made Manhattan seem like a country fair. There was a wild assortment of technology and goods on display and beings crammed in shoulder to shoulder haggling over it in hundreds of languages. 

"Not exactly the word I'd use."

Sam grinned back over his shoulder at him. He was showing off a little, and who could blame him? This was just...

"I'm inside of people's heads. Does that make me creepy?" Aracely asked.

"Yes," Kaine answered instantly. 

"You're just grouchy because you don't like crowds," Aracely told him, unperturbed. 

Faira snorted.

"I don't blame him," said Mark, who had gravitated toward the centre of their brightly-coloured knot.

In full costume, the New Warriors might still have been the flashiest members of this crowd, but only barely. There was so much to take in, Vance wanted to zoom off in ten different directions at once. There had to be dozens of alien species here, most of which even he couldn't identify.

Reluctantly, he forced himself to focus. "You said this security chief's name is Cosmo?"

Sam nodded. "He knew the last Nova. Oh, and he's a telepathic dog; did I mention that before?"

"Sure, why not?" Silhouette said lightly. "We've already got a talking dog."

"I am a New Man," Jake Waffles corrected her.

"I've got a great record with super-powered animals," Robbie chipped in. "Speaking of which, I hope SHIELD is taking good care of Niels."

"Come on, guys, keep up! Don't get separated." Sam really was enjoying leading this field trip a little too much.

Robbie was walking backwards, transfixed by a display of small, singing animals. The alien ahead of him stopped suddenly, and they collided. Venting an angry-sounding exclamation, the alien rounded on him.

"Sorry, man; my bad," Robbie said, raising his hands in a placating gesture.

An orange finger poked Robbie in the middle of the chest. It was accompanied by a lot of shouting.

"Uh, he's getting kind of upset, Speedball," Sam said nervously. "Hey, guy, he didn't mean—"

The alien hauled back and slapped Robbie across the face a split-second before Vance decided to bring a shield up. He winced, mentally kicking himself. But who knew the guy could hit so hard open-handed? If he'd even telegraphed a little more, Robbie could have absorbed it.

As it was, the alien seemed completely shocked when the blow sent Robbie flying ten yards instead of ten feet.

"Aw, man," Vance said, rising into the air to get a better vantage. 

The biggest liability in Robbie's kinetic powers was that he couldn't always see where he was going, and trying to contain him just made things worse. He'd gotten a lot better at aiming himself, but in a space like this it would be hard for him to find a clear space to resorb his momentum, and he might end up anywhere. If Vance could catch him, he could bounce him back to the group and—

—someone green and vaguely familiar drew a weapon and took a prodigious swing at Robbie, which was absolutely the last thing they needed right now—

—escalation. _Damn._ People were running everywhere, merchants were shouting in alarm. A couple of side-fights were already breaking out, and now some of the crowd was zeroing in on the rest of the team on the ground. Sam was trying to use his Nova status to calm things down, but apparently the corps had been out of the picture for a little too long. 

"I've got this! Everybody keep your heads," Vance called down to his team and he guessed anyone who somehow understood English, for whatever good it would do. There was only so much Kaine and Faira would put up with before mixing in. They were great to have on the team once a fight had already started, not so helpful when you were trying to keep one from happening.

"Well, I'm sure as hell not going to let these jerks take mine off," Kaine yelled back.

Delightful. 

"Are you all going to keep making severed head jokes, now? Because it is not a strange thing to find gross. Most people are grossed out by severed heads. Am I right?" Selah asked one of the aliens ringing them in, hands on her hips.

"Is this really the time for this?" Mark asked. 

"No." Vance saw his chance. "I've got—"

A spike of pain stabbed between Vance's eyes. He couldn't focus enough to hold a projection and stay in the air, but Robbie was coming in. Vance felt him impact the faintly visible projection just before he lost it, slamming into it at the right angle and plummeting to the deck again like Vance. Vance really hoped he wasn't about to break his damned leg again. His brain was _screaming_ even as he tried to catch himself. _What the fuck—_

There was a red blur, and then something hit him in the side. Vance registered Kaine's scent as an arm closed around him, snugging him in at an awkward angle. 

Vance twisted around to see Robbie bounce gently a few times and then finally manage to absorb his own motion. He was good as long as he could see it coming. Kaine hit a wall and stuck.

"I think I found your telepathic dog," he told Vance. "And stop squirming around."

Telepathic attack: that made sense. At least Kaine seemed functional; Robbie would be, too. And—

"I am Huitzilopochtli!"

_Oh, shit._ That was Aracely. The pain in Vance's head disappeared, but not the headache. Good news, bad news.

"I'm fine, let me go," Vance told Kaine.

"And I am Angela of Heven!" shouted a well-armed woman in some kind of armour haloed by thrashing ribbons.

Aracely had started floating. There was an unsettling glow coming from her eyes, and her voice was not her own. 

"You are not of Heven, godling," Aracely intoned. _Well, at least she's speaking English this time._

Sam followed her into the air and grabbed her by the shoulder. "Stop it! Cosmo's just trying to break up the fight. And lady, you back off!"

Angela's outrage was emphasised by jagged red markings around her eyes. "Who dares to speak such words?"

"Nova, kid, you are out of your depth," said the green-skinned woman who had attacked Robbie, sword still in her hand.

Aracely lurched, worry taking over her face. Sam eased her to the ground. Vance and Kaine landed back in the now-clear circle around the rest of the team in time to see, Sam had not been kidding, a dog in a space-suit regain its—his—feet unsteadily and shake himself off. Aracely dropped to her knees and hugged him.

"Puppy! Are you all right? The voice in my head doesn't like being disturbed. Also, you were hurting my friends. Извините пожалуйста?"

"Is she speaking Russian now?" Silhouette asked.

_Да,_ answered a voice in Vance's mind. _Possessed girl is fast learner._

"I asked a question," Angela insisted heatedly. "I would know your names before I slaughter each and every one of you."

"You will not live that long," Faira replied. 

_No slaughter._ Cosmo interposed himself. _Gamora, Nova, control your friends or I will sent them where we sent Hulk._

"Ummm." Sam stepped in front of Faira but was not quite foolish enough to touch her. "Maybe chill? This was all just a misunderstanding. Gamora, a little help here?"

"You would have me allow this disrespect?" Angela asked her companion, who had just come up alongside her.

Vance had seen or met Gamora once or twice in passing; enough to recognise her and, despite the thing Rich had apparently had with her, be more than a little wary. Now he was grateful Chris had insisted on staying behind, although he hadn't been very clear on why when Vance asked. At worst, the New Warriors had them outnumbered three to one. 

But Gamora surprised him. "Has she lied, though?"

Angela glared at her but subsided slightly. "This child knows of me. How?"

"They're obviously from Earth." Gamora shrugged. "The Avengers tell each other everything unless concealing it leads to catastrophe."

Robbie snickered. Vance crossed his arms and reached for something diplomatic to say.

"We're not Avengers; we're the New Warriors."

Gamora looked at him sharply. 

"I'm an Avenger," Sam muttered.

"Sell-out," Robbie said out of the corner of his mouth.

Sam stuck his tongue out.

Vance cleared his throat. "You're familiar with the name, then." 

"Richard Rider was once among your number; but Richard Rider is dead," Gamora said stiffly.

"Then why isn't the Nova Force dead with him?" 

All eyes turned to Sam. He pulled his tongue back into his mouth and straightened self-consciously, spreading his hands palm-up in a shrug.

"Hey, I don't know either. That's why we're here. Since everyone else made it back, isn't there a chance the old Nova did, too? If nothing else, maybe we can bring his parents back something more than a dinged-up helmet."

"Last we heard, Rich's brother was out with the old corpsmen on their ship. He thinks he can use Kid Nova's helmet to find the Nova Force," Vance explained. 

Cosmo tilted his head thoughtfully, ears flopping. _And perhaps also our friend? To find and protect Nova Force is worthy cause in own right. Universe too big for one person to look after._

Cosmo nudged Sam's hand to take the sting out of it. Sam scratched his ears reassuringly. "You don't have to tell me, Cosmo. Do you think you can help us? We don't know where the ex-Novas have gone."

"Or what actually happened out here. How did Rich get left behind?" Sil asked.

"If you wish to know of Richard Rider, ask Peter Quill." Gamora's tone was bitter.

_Perhaps this not best place for conversation,_ Cosmo suggested. _Follow, please._

Vance eagerly took in everything as Cosmo led them through the facility. Maybe they'd get a chance to look around while the search was running... 

Something small hit Vance's head. He looked up to see Kaine up in the ductwork watching him.

"What was that for?"

"You're walking around with your mouth hanging open," Kaine told him.

"So?" Vance said a little defensively. "You can't tell me you're not even a little impressed."

"At least everything is normal-sized."

"Except for the gigantic head. Ow!" Mark rubbed his arm where Selah had pinched him.

"If you're worried about bruising, wear a shirt," she said heartlessly.

Aracely stuck an arm out at Vance; he ducked. Enough was enough. "You've got webbing in you hair," she explained.

He felt for it, blocking Aracely's next grab with his other arm. "I've got it, I've got it." 

Gingerly, Vance picked at it with his telekinesis. The stuff would dissolve eventually, but their professional tone had already suffered considerably. Cosmo's tongue was lolling out in a doggy grin as he ushered them on. 

Speaking with Cosmo was strange. Accents didn't really carry over into telepathy, at least not in any normal sense. Instead, it was like Vance could tell he was _thinking_ at him in Russian, but he could understand it anyway.

The glaring down in the marketplace had continued all the way through the winding corridors and into some kind of private suite. Maybe sticking around for a while wasn't such a great option. Vance heaved an internal sigh of regret.

There was something else going on with Faira now, though. Her head swung around, and she seemed almost to test the air.

"My lady was here; I can feel it."

"Namorita? She means Namorita," Robbie explained. "You might remember her. Leggy, built, likes to punch things. Looks like someone coloured in Miss Snarly here with a different set of crayons. Rich pulled her out of some kind of space anomaly?"

"You are not so amusing as you believe yourself," Faira told him.

"I could try cutting off his head again," Gamora offered. 

"Again with the heads," Selah complained.

Angela crossed her arms. "You don't usually need a second try."

Gamora glared at her. "I shouldn't; it was a clean hit. What is shielding you?"

"Yeah, I'm not really feeling telling you how to murder me." Robbie looked at them askance.

Vance pinched the bridge of his nose. "I think we're losing focus."

_Да, agreed,_ said Cosmo. _What is it you are wantink, exactly?_

"Have any of you been in contact with Rob Rider?" Vance asked.

"He was at the memorial service on Hala," Gamora said.

_Cosmo last saw him on Earth. Your friend was with him._

Vance nodded, thinking. "Do you have any idea where the corps—survivors intended to go? They had a ship, and I guess Rob thought he could do something with their supercomputer."

_Gamora may be snippy, but also correct. Star-Lord did not discuss with Cosmo, but Nova's death was for him big loss. He might keep tabs on brother. In any case, has many resources now._

For some reason, he was looking at Gamora. She returned his gaze levelly, perhaps in accompaniment to a telepathic conversation the rest of them couldn't hear.

_Okay, Cosmo will say. Peter Quill has recently been elected President of Spartax Empire. Most of Guardians are there with him now._

"Oh, so that's where they went," Sam said aloud. 

_That is where Cosmo recommends you try next. Cosmo will keep an eye out and contact you if he catches scent of your friends._

Something more passed between Cosmo and Sam. Sam raised his chin, mouth tightening.

"Sooooo," Robbie asked, "where's the head?"

 

Gamora closed her eyes for a moment when they were alone again. Let Nova and Cosmo chivvy the Earthlings around to play tourist and search for the discarded remnants of the Nova Corps and Richard's brother; she had larger matters to concern herself with.

"Lady Gamora?"

Gamora felt herself smile a little, quite unbidden. She opened her eyes. "It's nothing. Old business."

Of course, Angela wouldn't let it go that easily. "This Rider, I have heard him mentioned before. He was a warrior?"

"Yes."

"And a lover of yours."

"Yes."

Gamora waited for her reaction. Angela didn't always come down where you expected on things. She was very good at subjugating her emotions to her code. Mostly. It was a complex relationship even before adding another person or two to the mix.

"I know what it is like to lose your heart. Have you drawn its worth from those responsible?"

Her tone was so earnest. Gamora had to laugh. It came out dark and bitter; that was such an Angela thing to say. Most cultures placed value on their emotional entanglements and personal relationships but shied away from quantifying them. Humans in particular tended to talk in infinities, as though there could be no end to either love or grief. Angels, it appeared, were much more clear-minded. She wondered if they actually found closure in their system of reparations. Gamora knew well that inflicting loss on another did not automatically bring you gain.

"Not nearly enough."

"Who yet owes you?" Angela asked.

"Thanos." The smile had stretched into something much less pleasant. "I was hunting him when you found me."

Angela's ribbons flicked. "I did not realise. You should not have let me take you from your hunt." Her tone was reproachful.

"Why _did_ you come looking for me? And where is Sera? I'm surprised she let you out of her sight."

Angela's face darkened. So much for making conversation. Stupid human customs.

"That Sera was not Sera, but a foul deceit. I shall seek her in Hel and rend her from its grasp."

On the other hand. "Sounds like fun."

"I do not ask this of you," Angela said warily.

"Well, I've provided you with so many diverting fights, I think it's only fair you share this one with me," Gamora told her.

"And what of this new matter? What is this Rider to you now?"

That was the question she had been asking herself. Gamora crossed her arms, not quite hugging herself. Angela really was determined to have this conversation when Gamora hardly knew where she stood. What they had together was so untried. Maybe this holiday in hell was what they needed. What, after all, did she owe Richard at this late date?

She wanted to be able to laugh away this children's fantasy. Richard was dead. His body had fallen in a place that, even if it still existed, they could never risk returning to. He had sacrificed himself. It was a foolishly brave and noble act, and that would have to be enough.

The idea was so insidiously tempting to believe; Gamora could see why the friends of his childhood had been seduced by it. Peter Quill and Drax he had meant to send through, but now Thanos had returned as well. Could he have overpowered Richard, even with the Cosmic Cube? Had Richard been mistaken? Peter's cosmic cube had been damaged.

"I don't know. I have to find out if Richard really is alive, somehow. And if he's not, when we go to hell I will disassemble it until I find him." As strategies went, ransacking the realm of death would probably be enough to get Thanos' attention. Better to think of it in those terms. If she found Thanos, she at least knew what she would do with him.

"So we will accompany these New Warriors?"

"You don't have to come with me either," Gamora said. 

If it came to that, she wasn't actually certain she could imagine Angela and Richard in the same space. He was...well, not the quintessence of human irrationality: that was Peter Quill. She had once considered him as incomprehensible as he would no doubt find Angela. It made her wonder who she was now, how much she had changed. Could she belong with either of them?

"Of course I will. You gave me back my heart," Angela said simply.

Gamora expelled a breath like a punch to the solar plexus. _Who's sentimental now?_

Gamora just hoped she didn't end up taking it back again. She knew how Angela handled personal injury. 

Gods, it would be a great fight, though.


	6. Chapter 6

The New Warriors, minus a few who seemed to have wandered off, were still in the Guardians' abandoned control centre when Gamora emerged. She sighed internally, although she'd known she'd have to deal with them again eventually. Human adults were bad enough, however, that Gamora was less than anxious to deal with their children.

"Oh, are you still here?" she asked.

"We thought it might be a good idea to give everyone out there a chance to settle down some before we went parading through the corridors again," said the one in the blue and white cape. He did seem vaguely familiar; maybe he'd been involved in the whole mess with the Infinity Gems. Some Nova, probably Richard, had been. "And Kid Nova took our pilot to the continuum cortex to plot our route out."

"There are a lot of scientists on Knowhere, studying the Rip. They get excited very easily, and then they go back to work to calm their nerves," Gamora told him.

"Good to know. I think we'll be out of you hair before too long. If you like, we can get word to you here when we find anything out."

_Oh, look. Some Earthlings do have manners._ "No. If Richard Rider is to be found, I will be there. Besides, I once agreed to guard the galaxy. Obviously I can't just leave all of you running around loose out here."

"Excuse me?" objected one of the two brown-skinned women, the short-haired one who was leaning on some kind of braces.

Gamora flicked a glance at her. "While you're waiting for everyone to find their way back, you might as well have the doctors see to your wounds."

The woman's jaw tightened. "Little late for that, but thanks for your concern."

"I forget how primitive human medicine is," Gamora told her. It wasn't really a contradiction to both like her attitude and want to fight her for showing it. "The medical facilities here can likely do better."

She stared fiercely at Gamora from her single-lidded eyes, white on black, for a long moment. "How sure are you about that?" she finally asked.

Gamora shrugged. "You're alive. Your legs are still there. I can't think what the problem would be."

The skin stretched tautly over the woman's knuckles as she tried to read Gamora's face. Her team leader, the one with manners, made as though to reach out to her, then drew his hand back.

The woman nodded once, shortly. "Fine. But if you're fucking with me, I don't care if you're the deadliest woman in ten galaxies: I will shove this crutch down your throat and electrocute your bright green ass."

 

Vance and Robbie didn't ask; they just went with Sil. They still had their coms, and the scene earlier had hopefully made enough of an impression to keep anyone from immediately doing anything stupid.

The doctors seemed as unconcerned as Gamora, although Sil's face was as closed as Vance had ever seen it. At least they had had human patients before.

Sil's injury had never really been a topic for discussion. Vance thought someone had brought it up, once, as a practical matter and been shut down. As a practical matter, it had barely ever been an issue. It wasn't like they'd ever treated Thrash as handicapped for not having powers. Being a superhero wasn't about what you could do: it was about what you were willing to try and do.

And while Sil had never been as locked-down as Dwayne, she had never invited discussion on the topic. From his own experiences with both love and guilt, Vance thought some of that might have been for Dwayne's sake. Which was maybe also one reason why that relationship had ultimately gone nowhere. Honest communication was important. _Yeah, well, Sil's not the only one whose boyfriend has trouble with that concept._

More to the point, it didn't take a team meeting to get that an injury like Sil's was emotional as well as physical. The closest Vance had ever come to feeling anything similar was when he'd been forced to wear power dampeners in prison. It had been a particular kind of hell every day, leaving his training sessions with the Vault guards and having to let them lock away a part of him, even if it was a part that had betrayed him.

He couldn't imagine what it had been like for Sil to lose the use of her legs. She'd had to somehow come to terms with not being able to fix that. And now, after all these years, to suddenly have hope again...god. 

Sil lay on the table, the scars on her back exposed. You couldn't have told from her face whether the procedure hurt, but she let Robbie and Vance take her hands, squeezing back hard enough the fingers of Robbie's other hand were sparking a little, her breathing carefully regular.

It was her breathing that gave her away when the nerve tissue regenerated, but it only lasted a moment. Then the doctor straightened, setting their medical tool aside. 

Sil responded with a kick when the doctor tried testing her reflexes, starting with the soles of her feet. She twisted around, her hand hands flying to her mouth.

"I am _so_ sorry—" Sil broke off, her eyes widening. She looked from Vance to Robbie, whose grin was as wide as Vance's felt. Her face crumpled and she buried it in her hands, shoulders shaking. When she looked up again, her cheeks were wet. 

"Go ahead and stand," the doctor told her after finishing their preliminary examination without receiving another heel to the face. "I'm afraid I couldn't correct for all the atrophy all at once, though."

Vance and Robbie's natural instinct was to crowd in close, but Sil waved them back. She swung her legs down, probing at the floor with newly sensitive toes before putting her weight on her feet. Then, very deliberately, she let go of the exam table.

Silhouette was standing.

She lifted one foot, wobbling a little but keeping her balance. She placed it carefully and took another step towards her friends. 

Robbie and Vance couldn't contain themselves any longer. They enfolded her in a jubilant hug, all three of them laughing and crying unashamedly.

"Gently, please," the doctor interjected. "For a couple days at least."

Robbie lifted his head to nod earnestly. Sil buried her face in his shoulder and, for once, let her friends hold her.

 

Gamora and her friend had shut the door rather emphatically on them all, leaving the New Warriors to fend for themselves. Sam was pretty sure they were going to stay put, at least for a while. He was a little worried about leaving the rest of the team on their own, but they were grown-up superheroes. Mostly. They'd really been doing okay until Cosmo dropped Vance and set off Hummingbird. 

Jake Waffles needed to talk to the quantum engineers about getting the base out of here again, though, and Sam was the guy who knew his way around. Plus, he felt kind of like he should apologise to Cosmo for making trouble and thank him for all the help. He knew Cosmo had told him he hadn't heard anything more about his dad, but with everyone else so focussed on finding their old teammates, he thought maybe Cosmo might be able to help him figure out what to do next.

They found Cosmo in the continuum cortex. Justice would love it: it was all alien scientists floating around in front of crazy computers. Jake Waffles seemed to be taking it all in stride.

Cosmo caught scent of them and padded over, toenails clicking on the floor. _Hello, Sam. No more problems, I hope._

Sam shook his head. "Cosmo, this is Jake Waffles. He's our pilot."

Cosmo's ears perked up. _Ah, yes. Cosmo was hoping we would have opportunity to talk. It has been long time since Cosmo had opportunity for intelligent conversation._

"Hey," Sam objected.

"Yes, my new friends are almost all human. They mean well, but it is not the same as when I lived among others of my kind."

Cosmo nodded wisely. _How can Cosmo help you?_

"We may be leaving soon. I was pleasantly surprised by how well our teleportation systems worked with yours, but I would feel better if I could consult with your experts and perhaps examine your equipment."

_Yes, teleportation is all or nothing game. Come, come._ Cosmo started picking his way through the maze of scientists at their computer interfaces. _Technicians say they have never interfaced with teleporting spaceship before. Very exciting, apparently._

Sam nodded. "Um, hey, while you two are doing that, I thought, you know, as long as I was here, maybe I could use the cortex a little?"

_Don't you want to show friends Knowhere?_

"It's okay; I've seen it before."

_Seen some._ Cosmo gave him a knowing look. _You realise, random scans on cortex as likely to find father as fly randomly through space, да?_

"Maybe, but I had a thought. Is there like a space-google?"

 

_"Uh, hey, Vance, are you busy?"_ Chris's voice carried clearly over Vance's com. 

"What's up? Is everything all right over there?" 

_"Now that you ask, there might be a problem."_ Chris grunted. _"Or ten."_

"What's going on? Are you—" Vance broke off as Gamora dashed out of her room again, her cape a streak of glittering blackness, Angela hard on her heels. Vance did a one-eighty on the assumption that they knew the fastest way to the nearest teleporter or airlock. "Talk to me, Darkhawk." 

_"Hey! Less with the arkhawk-day; I'm trying not to get arrested here."_

_What?_ "Chris!" 

_"They're attacking us!"_

"Who—what? Hummingbird, what do you think you're doing?" 

Aracely had followed Vance out into the corridor. He had abandoned the idea that he would be able to keep up with Gamora and Angela on foot almost instantly and was now trailing them through the air near the ceiling. 

Aracely was keeping pace. Kaine, of course, had boiled out after her. 

"What he said." 

"I am going to help fight the empty birds! Your friend needs our help; he's not doing very well right now." 

_"Hey! I'm doing fine!"_ Chris objected. _"But anytime you all feet like getting your butts out here, y'know."_

_"I'm here!"_ called Sam, a little louder than strictly necessary. _"Wow, yeah, whoever these guys are, there are a lot of them, and they seem kind of ticked. Also, wow, that's a lot of ugly."_

"I'm on my way, guys, along with Gamora and Angela."

"And me!" Aracely insisted. 

" _Maybe_ ," Vance said firmly. "If you can find a pressure suit of some kind. I can handle vacuum on my own long enough for a fight, but you might find it a little hard to breathe," Vance reminded her.

"Who needs to breathe?" Aracely blinked at him innocently.

"Do you know anything about this?" Vance appealed to Kaine.

Kaine shrugged and made another leap, not having enough free room to swing. "I mean, she springs weird shit at me out of nowhere all the time."

"Vegetables aren't weird, Kaine; you're supposed to eat them."

Kaine grunted, unconvinced. Aracely sighed loudly and rolled her eyes. 

Vance gritted his teeth. "Aracely, are you sure?"

"Of course! Probably."

" _No_." 

They were at an airlock now. Gamora slapped at a control on the wall and the inner door slid open. "You coming or not?" 

"I am; _you're_ not," Vance told Aracely firmly, stepping over the raised lip of the threshold. She was still glaring rebelliously at him when the door closed. 

"Cosmo is putting us on your frequency," Gamora told him as the air was pumped out of the claustrophobic little chamber. "Multiple targets, small but formidable."

"We shall see," Angela said, flexing her hand on the hilt of her sword as the outer hatch opened onto the luminous roil of the Rip. 

Briefly, Vance wondered if this egress was part of the original structure—gargantuan pores?—or something that had been cut through the dismembered giant's remains. He had to admit, Selah was right about it being a bit grisly. 

The Rip was like no space Vance had ever experienced. It was almost more like being in a sandstorm, if sand were luminescent, opalescent. It was beautiful, like flying through a sunset.

He was just now realising how much visibility was going to be an issue. Plumes of gas and dust swirled around Knowhere at shifting densities, more and less translucent from moment to moment. Just to make matters more interesting, discharges of energy arced from point to point like lightning caroming around inside a thunderhead. 

Swinging wide around one gigantic decorative eruption—there was evidently something universal about the appeal of winged helmets—the conflict came into view. Shadowy figures darted around each other, stirring up the particulate clouds as they dodged through a barrage of fire that from this distance bore a surreal resemblance to a laser show. 

Angela had somehow unfolded a set of great wings from her skin-tight armour. As metallic and deadly-looking as the rest of it, the gleaming surfaces of her feathers reflected the ambient light, making for surprisingly good visual camouflage.

"Justice to D—I mean, Chris and Nova," Vance broke into their battle-chatter. "We're almost at your position. What are we dealing wi— Fuck me!" 

Vance swung wide as something went hurtling through the middle of their formation, scattering the three of them. As it shot past, he glimpsed thrashing limbs and exposed machine workings. One red, glaring eye seemed to lock on him, and he angled to face the threat. 

_"Jar!"_ Aracely scolded him cheerfully as she soared unprotected through what, if not vacuum, certainly didn't qualify as humanly breathable atmosphere. 

"Hummingbird, I told you to—"

Aracely sent a gout of flame shooting about a foot to the right of him. _"Justice! Pay attention! The empty hawks are very dangerous."_

Shit, he had to get his head back into the game. 

_Jar,_ Vance heard Aracely say again in his mind.

_It doesn't count if I'm only thinking it,_ he felt compelled to point out.

"They're hunter drones," Chris confirmed, grunting. "I've run into them before. Hummingbird's right; they're heavy hitters."

These things were Hulk-sized, with, from what Vance could tell, about the same attitude. He kept hammering at the one that had been blasted past them without much effect. 

The drone had straightened itself out enough to fire back, a column of energy as thick as Vance's shoulders. It clipped him as he tried to dodge, searing his shield. 

The damn things were fast, too, closing to make a grab at him. Oh, that wouldn't be good.

_"Justice!"_ Angela shouted. 

Vance risked a glance behind him and saw another drone had been knocked his way. He grabbed the one he was fighting bodily with his telekinesis and threw it hard as he could at the oncoming drone. They collided in the surreal silence of space and a spray of shrapnel. Chris—Vance assumed it was Chris, although he'd never seen the Darkhawk armour tanked up like that before—opened up on the tangled machines with everything he had. 

Off to one side, Gamora had produced a laser-edged pole-arm from somewhere. She gave a cry as she struck, parrying the blows the drone she was fighting tried to land on her in order to create an opening. Angela was fighting at even closer range, with sword and fists. 

Sam blasted the drone Chris had ducked to get that last shot in, splitting his attention from the one chasing him. Aracely wove in and out, trying to draw fire and pursuit to keep the drones from successfully ganging up on them all. She led one of them directly into a stray shot from another and a spray of hot metal came flying off it. 

In all the dust and confusion, it was hard to get a headcount, but they were definitely outnumbered. Vance concentrated on knocking the drones back and into each other when he could. Narrowly, he avoided another massive attack and struck back with a blast of concentrated telekinetic force. He wished he knew where their weak points were. Before his counterattack landed, something hit his shield, wrapping around him and clamping down. 

"Gamora, we're going to have to discuss your definition of 'small'," Vance grunted, probing inside the finger mechanisms holding him with his telekinesis. 

_"I've fought bigger,"_ Gamora replied.

Bracing himself, Vance started prying apart the hand gripping him. His shield took the brunt of the next fire-burst, delivered at point-blank range. 

Vance gritted his teeth and kept upping the pressure. It had to break sometime. _Right?_

_"Justice!"_ Sam shouted, alarmed, seeing him caught and the drone about to take another shot. He hit the other side with a gravimetric blast, doing some serious damage and temporarily diverting the brute's attention.

It also had the unfortunate side-effect of sending them into a tight spin. Vance groaned and tried to keep his focus. _Almost...give, damn you!_

With a shout of effort, the drone arm finally buckled. Pieces went flying as it came apart past the elbow. 

Vance turned, getting some distance. Sam was swinging around again for another pass. They caught the drone neatly between twin hammers of force, telekinetic and gravimetric.

The explosion knocked them both backwards. Vance didn't know how Gamora and Angela were hacking pieces off of these things with blades. 

There were still more of them. Drones or not, they were clearly used to working together as a unit. As soon as one was engaged, another tried to support it. If one was attacked, its fellows came to its aid. 

Chris and Sam had been using evasive tactics, trying not to let themselves get pinned down. Angela and Gamora had started by breaking the drones up to stop them from overwhelming the defenders. Vance thought they had the numbers even now; with the kind of firepower they were facing, they still definitely didn't want to let these guys join forces. 

The last thing Vance wanted was to close with any more of these things, but he had to be sure of his aim. The telekinetic blows he was dealing out now were harder and more focussed than he used on things that weren't infrastructure. Or the Hulk. At arm's reach, he could punch through their joints and smash out their crazy red eyes, hopefully along with whatever other sensory apparatus they had. 

They were holding their own until Vance and Chris, both dodging, narrowly missed colliding. Unfortunately, Aracely didn't quite manage to dodge Vance dodging Chris. Suddenly, there were four hunter drones converging on them.

Vance barely got a shield up in time. He had to get them out of the crossfire; the screaming feedback from the drones' energy weapons was making black spots appear in his vision. Vance looked around desperately, but the drones were putting even pressure on him from all sides, and it was all Vance could do to stay conscious. They didn't even have the common courtesy to line up so that if he got away, they'd take each other out.

Before Vance could pick an escape vector, there was a piercing battle-cry over his com and one of the energy pulses cut off abruptly as its source was split virtually in half by a massive overhand blow. Vance knew very little about Angela and why she was flying around space with a three-foot broadsword, but he could suddenly see how she'd earned the respect of the deadliest woman in the galaxy.

Chris had recovered now, and as soon as Vance had gotten them out through the opening Angela had hacked for them, he went back on the offensive. From the looks of things, Sam was pouring a large percentage of the Nova force down the throat of another. Vance, more than a little pissed, slammed the last one into it. He took a certain vindictive pleasure in the resultant explosion. 

_"Are we clear?"_ he heard Gamora ask.

_It would appear so,_ Cosmo broadcast. _Is good to have Guardians at Knowhere from time to time. Next crisis, Cosmo might be forced to ask Luminals for help._

_"Maybe we should have let them do something useful for once,"_ Gamora muttered as they manoeuvred in towards the nearest airlock.

_"They have done nothing to deserve such good sport,"_ Angela disagreed. _"Where is the Raptor going?"_

Vance looked around; Chris was headed in the opposite direction. "He volunteered to babysit the ship while the rest of us are on the station. Do things like this happen often here?"

_This is Rip, end of all space and time. Everything finds its way here eventually. Heads of dead Celestials not only things that turn up,_ Cosmo replied with a mental shrug.

 

"—So, was Korvac the threat we came to the past to stop?" Major Victory asked Charlie-27. 

The transmat dropped them back in the continuum cortex. Charlie looked around, impressed despite himself with the tek level he was seeing. This _was_ only the twenty-first century, after all. Or, well, the twentieth century after a fashion. Charlie wondered how you told time at the end of the universe. Martinex would have disappeared into all this and not come back up for cycles.

With Charlie and Star-Lord helping, they'd managed to finish off the Major's docket maxifast and bounce. And it was good for Geena to learn on simple systems first. If you were going to be spending any time on space ships, anything you knew about fixing them was a plus. 

"A-Sentience certainly thought so," Charlie said. 

"A what?" the Major asked, frowning. The holes in his memory were disturbing; however he'd travelled back to this time, it hadn't been as gentle as creeping up unannounced on the sleeping Old Hunger.

"Korvac thought there was something else wrong," Geena Drake insisted. "I think—he wanted to use me to _fix_ things, somehow. He got hurt and reality started flipping out, and then suddenly he was gone and everything was back to normal. Well," Geena made a face, "stabilised, anyway."

Major Victory, who at least seemed to know his way around this place, steered them confidently through the teeming passageways. This place was so free it verged on chaos. Charlie, who was after all just a colony boy, might have felt just the teensiest bit overwhelmed, although he'd never admit it. Good not to be under siege for once, though.

"So is he actually—" Major Victory stopped dead and fell silent in mid-sentence. 

"What is it, Vance?" asked Charlie, following the Major's transfixed gaze across the criss-crossing maze of levels and catwalks. 

 

"What is it, Vance?" asked Silhouette. She had been dancing ahead of the group and now turned around to see why they weren't catching up. Kaine felt a quiet kinship with her, remembering the days after his burden of pain and death had been lifted.

They were on their way to meet the other dog in some sort of computer room, walking along a high causeway with a sweeping view down over Knowhere's marketplace. Kaine cast a glace over it and decided it didn't look too much the worse for wear. 

Vance had stopped cold in front him. Everyone else was backing up behind them now. Seeing Silhouette stop, too, Gamora and Angela, who had apparently changed their minds about them all being wastes of space after the recent fight, or had perhaps merely decided that it would cut out some steps if they were already on the scene the next time trouble broke out, looked back to see what was going on now.

"Over there." Vance indicated with a nod. His voice was a little shaky; Kaine tensed. 

Robbie swivelled his head around, following his gaze. "Dude. Somebody's biting your style. Although you haven't worn that costume in forever. And you've always had a fierce thing for that cape. Maybe it's an unusually out-of-date Skrull." 

Gamora craned her neck to see what they were talking about. "That looks like Major Victory; he used to be on the Guardians of the Galaxy. I wondered what happened to him." 

Without another word, Vance took off across the empty space, towards the cluster of aliens centred around a guy in a blue and white body-stocking standing on another walkway. Cursing, Kaine shot a web into the techno-rafters and swung after him. 

"What is it? Is that a bad thing? Should we go after them?" Sun Girl asked. 

Robbie's face was screwed up into an odd expression. "Major Victory is Vance's future self from a timeline where he became an astronaut instead of a superhero." 

"That doesn't really look like an astronaut," Mark pointed out dubiously. 

"We should _definitely_ go over," Aracely said, face shining with enthusiasm. 

Vance and Major Victory (apparently) stood staring at each other in amazement.

"Uh, Vance?" asked a little red-headed girl with freckles. And guns, lots of evil-looking space-guns.

"Yes?" they both answered at once. 

Kaine resisted the urge to smack himself in the face. _And I thought being a clone was a headache._

"It's funny, I really forget what my face looked like," Major Victory said.

"Aaaanytime someone feels like explaining," the girl suggested hopefully.

"I'm with her," said a man in a funny helmet. There was also a guy with no shirt who was the approximate size of the Hulk and some kind of blue alien with a fin on his head. They traded meaningful looks but didn't say anything.

Kaine was tempted to wave a hand in front of Vance's face. Was this some kind of telepathy thing? He felt strongly that they had reached their limit for that kind of stuff today.

The others were starting to arrive now. Green-lady Gamora and her extremely shiny friend were both giving helmet-guy a weird look.

"Peter?" Gamora asked. "What are you doing here?"

"Hell-o." The helmet snapped around before being pulled off. "Do I know you lovely ladies?"

"And what have you done to your hair? Let me guess: it involved either Rocket or Kitty."

"...I don't have a cat?" the man said uncertainly. "But I do have a ship. Named _Ship_. Let's start over: my name's Peter Quill. Hereditary King of Spartax. Only, you know, a thousand years from now. Grand-dad's great, though; I don't know why all those temporal theoreticians always start off by suggesting you go back in time and kill your grandfather. We're buds."

"Oh, it's the other one," Gamora said, looking even more sour than usual.

"There are two of him now?" Angela asked a little queasily. 

"No, there are two of Vance," Aracely corrected her. "Okay, Vances, you can snap out of it now. The time when this was funny is over; now you're just being weird." 

She poked them both in the ribs. Kaine felt a little sick himself as he realised that wanting to be an astronaut hadn't been the only thing Vance had been serious about. Weren't aliens enough without adding in aliens from some other time?

"Vances?" the little redhead asked. 

"Past Vance, future Vance." Silhouette pointed, cutting through at least twenty minutes' worth of inane babble. 

"Maxiflarked."

"Geena, you knew there was a version of me in this time," Major Victory said, finally breaking the staring contest. "Our original plan _was_ to follow my timeline to the right era."

"Yeah, but she didn't know how you dinked around with it," the huge one rumbled reproachfully. 

"I had my reasons."

"Why are you here?" Vance came to...his own defence. 

"To stop time and space from flying apart. You?" 

"Looking for some friends of ours. But let us know if we can help with your thing."

Major Victory smiled crookedly. "Big grat. Hey, Gamora."

"So these are _your_ friends. We ran into them on Earth a little while back."

"Your Star-Lord gave us the know on where to retrieve him." The big one talked too much to be a Hulk. Probably. And he wasn't green.

Major Victory turned to give him a dry look. "Charlie-27, did I like you? I can't remember."

An enormous hand clapped him on the back. "Best friends. No question."

"Hm. We actually came here looking for this era's Guardians." Major Victory turned his attention back to Gamora. 

"They were all on Spartax last I checked," she told him, her expression becoming resigned.

"That's what Cosmo said." The Major made a face. "I know it's a strange thing to say about a man we've trusted with keeping the entire universe safe, but I'm not sure I'd trust Peter Quill to manage a planet, let alone an empire."

Gamora cocked an eyebrow at him. "Did you feel safe in the universe when Peter was leading the Guardians?"

The Major coughed. It was exactly the same thing Vance did; it was like harsh words actually stuck in his throat.

Robbie whooped and punched the air. "Spartax or bust!"

Everyone turned to look at him.

"What, the rest of you don't see where this is going?"


	7. Chapter 7

_Knowhere_  
_On the Rip_

"I think they're doing it," Charlie-27 said.

"Who?" Vance asked; his money was on Gamora and Angela. They were on their way to the airlocks. The New Warriors had a big teleporting spaceship, apparently, and Vance's younger self had generously offered to give them a lift.

"Baby-Vance and Spider-Man."

" _What?_ "

Star-Lord nodded. "Look at their body-language. Definitely something going on there."

"I big doubt that," Vance muttered. 

Geena patted him commiseratingly on the arm, then ruined it by saying, "You and your poor twenty-first century morals."

"The other one doesn't seem to have a problem with that," Yondu spoke up for almost the first time since the two groups had met.

"Says _you_ ," Vance retorted. "Who's more likely to have the know, me or you dinkwafts?"

"I call 'em like I see 'em," Star-Lord said breezily, keying open the airlock. "All aboard."

The ship Vance's younger self hade come here on was maxihuge. Its docking bay dwarfed Star-Lord's small vessel. Geena stepped out the hatch and turned in a slow circle, taking in the cavernous space. "Wow." 

"What she said." Star-Lord patted _Ship_ 's side. "It's okay, girl; you're still my one and only. But this'll do to keep you out of the rain."

"Looks like baby-you is doing all right for himself," Charlie-27 said.

Vance shook his head in wonder. "Earth never had tek like this when I was his age. Where'd it come from?"

"Spoils of war. After a fashion."

Vance's younger self came sailing across the bay and touched down in front of them. His powers had grown a lot since the last time Vance had seen him. Vance had gotten used to flying in planes and then spaceships, but of course the kid would have learned to do it with his TK first.

"You mean you stole it," Star-Lord said, smirking.

The kid gave him an unfriendly look. "It...sort of fell into our hands. The guy who built it was involved in a genocidal plot with the Eternals and they kind of fried him when things went south. An empty state-of-the-art base with both teleportation and spaceflight capabilities? It was too good to pass up. Come on, I'll show you where the living quarters are."

"This thing was built to house an army," Charlie-27 observed. 

On approach, it had scanned at almost two klicks long. Inside, it was an Escher-esque collection of stairs, suggesting that it was intended to stand upright when grounded. The kid led them forward along a series of moving walkways, towards the bow of the enormous ship.

"The High Evolutionary took care of that himself," he answered grimly. "So far as we know, our pilot is the only survivor."

"Sounds like a maxigreat guy. I'd beat him up and steal his spaceship, too," Geena said.

"There was something weird going on, though," the kid said unhappily.

"When isn't there?" Yondu asked philosophically.

"Well, here we are. Watch the gravity, it switches around here. No one else has rooms on this level, so go where you like. The computer interfaces can tell you where everything is."

The kid left them to get settled in. It didn't take long; none of them had much, except for maybe Star-Lord, who had his ship to keep it in. Vance wandered up a few levels to where a lab ID had been overridden to scan as the rec room. One of the kid's teammates pointed him down the hall, and Vance saw his younger self coming out another door.

"Oh, hey. Is everything all right?" the kid asked.

His costume was still more than a little reminiscent of Vance's own suit. He had always liked that two-tone cape: the contrast from the white on the inside made it look sharp. Vance was glad to see that the whole thing appeared to have been reinforced more than was standard with the other superheroes he'd encountered in this era. Telekinetic shields took effort that couldn't always be spared, and they went down if you lost consciousness. Neither of them had any sort of enhanced physical durability. Vance had been glad of the adamantium in his own costume more than once.

"Just fine. Big grat for letting us hitch a ride."

"No sweat. Um, do you have a minute? I thought maybe we could talk."

"I wasn't sure you'd want to, all things considered," Vance said.

The kid made a face. "Yeah. It helps to have some distance on it. Come on. If the rest of the team's going to eavesdrop, I'd at least like to make them work for it."

He led off down the hallway

"Say, _is_ that Spider-Man with you?" Vance had to ask.

The kid shook his head emphatically. "Not even a little bit."

They fetched up on a balcony lofted over an empty bay. There was a portal all along one wall that framed the brilliant energies of the Rip, like someone had infused the aurora borealis into the sea. Knowhere bobbed there like an implausible cork, the empty skull of a giant taken over by tiny insects. 

There was no railing, so they sat with their feet dangling over the edge. No fear of heights here.

The kid cleared his throat. "I never said—if I ever saw you again, I wanted to thank you."

"You don't have to explain," Vance told them. "I messed your life up pretty good. Left you with a lot of things to deal with."

Vance remembered almost everything now, or everything that hadn't changed like the switching course of water running over glass. The self-discipline he had learned as a child whose father hit him had served him well in the military. He'd been more than eager to leave it all behind; he'd been driven. That drive had taken him up into the stars he'd stared up at as a child, alone down an impossibly long string of years, but definitely away. 

And when he arrived, everything had changed more than he could have ever imagined. Humanity hadn't needed a pioneer, but a general. Vance had welcomed action. The stakes were high, but no risk he might take could be as personally terrifying as flying out into the unknown, locked in static paralysis, unable to interface with anything except his visor HUD.

After years of fighting, Vance had found himself back in the one place he'd never expected to see again: his childhood. He still wasn't sure the others understood. It hadn't been _their_ future he had been trying to avert, god help him, but his own. Vance's mutant abilities hadn't surfaced until long immobility had driven him mad, desperate to reach out, to touch something, to feel and move and speak again. 

In the past, Vance had sought out the child he had been, this young man beside him, and awakened his powers early. Because of that, their father had never stopped beating him. Because of that, when he struck back, their father died. Vance had sent this boy to prison and set in motion the chain of events that resulted in their father's death. It was heavy history between them, impossible to ignore.

"Yeah. It took me a long time to work through, but I think I kind of get it now." The kid's face was serious. He was skinnier, obviously having grown up using his mind instead of his muscles. It made him look younger than he probably was. Vance did the math in his head, although when you subtracted it from a thousand, the gulf was still huge.

"Knowing some of what you went through... I'm glad I don't have to go back and make that choice again," Vance admitted. 

"Two of us is probably enough," the kid agreed drily.

That got a brief smile out of Vance. "Well, the universe probably couldn't handle any more." It was only half a joke; reality was pretty flarked.

"Ha."

The kid looked back out over the bay, falling silent. Vance waited. He had a lot of practice. When the kid spoke, though, it was nothing Vance could have predicted.

"Did you know our dad was gay?"

"What?" Vance said, genuinely astonished.

The kid's eyes were still focussed somewhere out in empty space. "The crazy super-villain who yanked Nita out of the time-stream sent me back in time once. I went looking for dad, and...his father hit him, just like he hit us."

"Dedko?" Vance asked, stricken. He remembered warm, strong hands and a gravelly voice that spoke in an accent he'd tried to imitate. If there had been a coolness between him and Vance's father, that had just been grown-ups. 

"Yeah," the kid said, his voice hoarse and close to breaking. "I tried, you know, to convince dad not to...give up, but I'm pretty sure he didn't listen." He gave vent to a bitter laugh. "What was I going to say? I'm your son from the future, and I just got out of prison for murdering you, so probably don't have kids?"

Vance rubbed his face through the mask, suddenly and profoundly heart-sick. "God. Maybe we were luckier after all. We had heroes; he had no one to look up to, to give him hope." Was it better to live a normal life in misery or with purpose through a life of impossible trials?

The kid sighed. "Well, we're in space now. We made it."

"Yeah, we are." 

"A part of me feels like I don't deserve this. But it's not about what I deserve: it's about what I can do for other people. I didn't come out here for myself. I'm here to help my friends."

Vance rested his hand on the kid's shoulder. "If there's one thing I've learned, it's that you take the good when you've got it. And when the bad comes, that's what you fight. I know how tough you are, kid."

They sat in silence for a while, but for once it was companionable instead of harrowing. This craft was so big, it didn't even sound like a spaceship. 

Eventually, the kid cleared his throat. "Is that really _the_ shield?" he asked.

"Yep," Vance confirmed with a sly, self-satisfied smile. "Want to try it?"

So the view wasn't the only reason the kid had chosen this place for their chat. Vance's estimation of his foresight rose a notch. As they bounced the shield back and forth in the bay below, Vance had a chance to gauge his younger self's skill with his TK. Hand-to-hand, Vance had the advantage in weight and experience (why _was_ the kid shorter than him? did it have something to do with his powers activating earlier?); but his fine telekinetic control was really extraordinary. He didn't seem to have developed any telepathic capabilities, however.

"You know, it's a little strange to be fighting myself," he mused as they wandered back to the occupied levels.

"I'm just used to it being more metaphorical," the kid said.

"You do realise you have to give me back the shield, right?"

The kid rolled his eyes but handed it over, albeit a little reluctantly. Vance stroked the gleaming edge before situating it on his back. Beside him, the kid's eyes glittered with amusement.

"Oh, shut up, you." 

They stepped around the grav-bend onto the top floors, and the kid held his arm out and frowned at it, concentrating. A shape coalesced over it that resolved into a translucent, slightly blurry version of the star in concentric circles that rested on Vance' back.

Vance nodded his approbation because it was hard for people to tell when he raised his eyebrows. "Nice trick. How do you manage it?"

"Refraction; I alter the density until I get the colour I want. But it takes too much concentration to be worth it in a fight most of the time. And I still haven't gotten the trick of making things invisible."

They turned a corner into what Vance thought was the main corridor. The kid paused outside the rec room. Vance cocked his head inquisitively. 

He spoke in a rush. "While we're still alone, I should probably also tell you that I seem to be kind of bisexual. So...you might want to watch out for that."

Gark it, Charlie'd never let him hear the end of it.

 

 _The stolen Chitauri ship_ Odysseus  
_Interstellar Space_

The _Odysseus_ had been drifting for almost a week, now. Jesse had used their last warp jump to take them as far as possible along a main trade route towards a major population centre. The universe was just too das't big, he guessed, and too much of it was in too much of a mess these days.

"Alexander," Ywaii the Mangler hissed.

"I heard you," Jesse grated through his teeth.

"Then your ears are working; splendid. Are your fists also working?"

"Stuff it, RrRRrR," Jesse told the alien on the other side of him.

"Alexander, called the Great!" Look, he'd been a slave gladiator abducted by evil, disgusting aliens: he'd had to make his own entertainment. "I challenge you! Either face me like a warrior or we will kill you and your worthless sycophants and eat your hearts for dinner!" Hraak the Bonecrusher bellowed her challenge again.

"Is it time for Plan B yet?" Ywaii asked.

Jesse shook his head. "No. RrRRrR's right: it's time for me to kick her face in. Too many of these shuggers have forgotten how to respect anything except brute force, and I don't really have the wherewithal to remind them right now. But you've got to keep them under control while the Lady Bonecrusher and I fight it out. We've still got a few days left if we don't all kill each other first."

RrRRrR bared his fangs. "Fight with honour. And if you must retreat, we will be holding the door."

Jesse hefted his sword and scratched his chest. _What I wouldn't give for a shirt. And some toothpaste._ He spat.

"This is gonna be hard: she doesn't have any krutackers for me to kick," Jesse muttered. Then he raised his voice. "Okay, then, if it's the only way to shut you up! Come at me!"

Hraak hraaked and charged, claws extended. Jesse scrambled hastily back. _Damn; losing my edge already?_

He closed, knocking one gnarled hand aside to create an opening and placing a solid left under Hraak's beak. She staggered but turned it to account by hauling back and kicking him in the stomach. _Nah, I didn't need those ribs._

Jesse swept his sword in front of him to back her off while he tried to figure out if he could stand upright again. Success. Sweet. Probably just cracked then; cracked was doable. 

He'd seen Hraak fight before. She didn't have a lot of weak points or she wouldn't still be alive. Jesse might be able to use her reliance on brute strength over agility. They'd liked that in the arena: it drew the fun out longer. 

Feint high, slash low at the tendons in Hraak's feet. It drew blood, but not the severing cut that would have put her out. Worse, swinging wide of her counterattack put her between him and his friends at the door. With her friends at his back. 

"Does anyone else here find this really ironic?" Jesse asked.

"Stand and fight, coward!" Hraak roared.

Jesse dodged a punch, realising only after the fact that it was a a diversion. He narrowly avoided getting his hand bitten off, and it was the hand with the sword in it, too. 

Coshing her with the hilt bought him a moment, but also confirmed that her head was way too hard for him to do anything short of cutting it off. He'd nearly broke his hand, last time. And, dammit, he was sick of killing. Being forced to it had been bad enough, but now facing the prospect of doing it with his own free hand...

He was a Nova, or he had been. He hadn't been the best; but he'd been better than that. 

Jesse aimed a kick at her knee that would have put a human down and danced back out of her reach. Make her keep turning on it, put weight on it, it might give out on her: that was a plan. It was not a plan that went very far.

 _"Chitauri ship. We are reading your distress call. I say again, Chitauri ship, this is the Pachyceph voidship_ Harunkle _responding to your distress beacon."_

 _Oh my god._ Jesse threw himself backward, hitting the edge of the door as it slid open. Thank god he'd made it around to the right side of Hraak again. 

"Coward!" she yelled after him. Ywaii and RrRRrR must have been paying attention, though, because she didn't catch up with him.

Skidding onto the bridge, Jesse slapped at the controls until he hit the com. " _Harunkle_ , this is former Nova Centurion Jesse Alexander speaking for the free ship _Odysseus_. Boy, are we glad to see you."

 _"_ Odysseus _, please confirm your distress beacon: you are not Chitauri?"_

"That's right. Your scans will confirm that we are a mixed-race party. Also that we have run out of fuel and are functioning on auxiliary power. We're low on food, too. And personal hygiene, just to warn you: there are some things the Chitauri don't really design for, apparently."

Ywaii and RrRRrR had seemingly been overwhelmed, because everyone else was crammed into the bridge, hanging breathlessly on the exchange. _No pressure._

" _Harunkle_ , we're just trying to get back home. Any assistance you can spare would be greatly appreciated."

Pause. _"If that is the case,_ Odysseus _, please enable visual broadcast."_

Jesse stared at the control panel in front of him. "Uh, little help here? Somebody? Anybody?"

RrRRrR—oh, good, he hadn't been trampled in the rush—gave him a long-suffering look and reached across to tap something on the interface. The elephantine face of a Pachyceph appeared in front of him, its tusks adorned with fine chains and engraved rings. The alarm it registered probably meant the voidnaut could see them, too.

Jesse waved. "Hi. I promise we're not pirates. Although if I were you I'd avoid the next system along this route: it was rotten with Haffensye when we went through."

The voidnaut continued to examine him suspiciously. Jesse scratched at his increasingly bristly chin. He never could grow a decent beard.

Eventually, the voidnaut vented a vaguely trumpet-like sound. _"Very well. Our voidherd is large; we can spare you fuel and supplies. And the condition of your ship does seem to be genuine. If you are pirates, you're das't terrible at it."_

"Thank you. Thank you so much; you won't regret it."

_"Stand by for docking instructions."_

With some effort, RrRRrR succeeded in ousting Jesse from the controls. He could have kissed every mangy, unwashed one of them. If the universe was going to keep giving him chances, then Jesse wasn't going to waste them.

The bridge was in good hands with RrRRrR and Goronto the Mace. Jesse made sure to be down at the airlock with Ywaii when they docked with the _Harunkle_. They had left everybody else out in the corridor this time, since Pachycephs could be a little skittish and Jesse really, _really_ did not want to piss them off before the _Odysseus_ was fuelled up. 

To his surprise, the first person through the airlock wasn't a Pachyceph but—well, he could have been a lot of things. Not Xandarian anymore, but maybe Spartoi or pink-skinned Kree. 

To his utter surprise, the man grinned at him and spoke in English, _actual English_. "Oh my god. You have no idea how good it is to see another actual human being."

Jesse snorted derisively and hooked a thumb at Ywaii, his crest, fuchsia skin, four arms, and four red eyes. "Dude."

The man's smile stretched even wider and he stuck out his hand. "Point. I'm Jack Flag. I heard 'Odysseus' and 'Jesse Alexander' and figured someone over here had to be human, so I volunteered to come check you guys out."

Jesse took the proffered hand and shook it firmly, not correcting him. "Jesse Alexander; that's me. This is Ywaii the Mangler. I used to be with the Nova Corps. I come out of retirement for _one day_ and look where it gets me. I take it you're a superhero?"

"Yep."

Ywaii extended his hands pressed palm-together, left over right and left over right, and bowed over them. After a moment's hesitation, Jack mimicked the gesture.

"What are you doing out here?" Jesse asked.

"Right now? Providing a little extra muscle for the voidherd. I did a stint with the Guardians of the Galaxy a while back looks good on my résumé, so they're willing to let me ride along provided I pitch in now and again. I've been trying to get back to Earth. Ran straight from Registration into this screwy cosmic bullshit, and now they tell me Earth's off-limits," Jack complained.

"Registration got repealed a while ago," Jesse told him.

Jack shook his head. In hindsight, the red-white-and-blue striped hair should have shouted Earth superhero the moment Jesse saw him. "Fucking news out here—only time you hear about Earth is when some dickhead decides to invade."

"Well, I'm going home, and I'd like to see them try and stop me. You're welcome to tag along," Jesse offered.

"God. You know, I might just take you up on that. I mean, I heard a rumour that psycho Venom's out here now. It's like someone's _trying_ to make space worse. But come on; let me tell the voidnauts that despite appearances you guys are not the most pathetic excuse for space-pirates anyone has ever seen and we'll get you some rations that are for all intents and purposes food-like."

Jack clapped him on the shoulder and leaned back through the airlock. "All clear. The only thing we're in danger from is old home week."

Jesse eyed him. "Where _are_ you from, anyway?"

"Arizona, originally."

"Oh, god; it really is old home week."

 

_The Aerie, the Shi'ar Galaxy_

_"Talon."_ A voice came to his ears from far away.

"Gos," Talonis transmitted. "How does your mission progress?"

_"Well enough, but that is not the reason I made contact. Do you not hear it, brother?"_

"Hear what?"

_"Listen, in the Datasong."_

Talonis stopped what he was doing and cleared his mind, letting the audiomathematics of their guiding force consume all of his attention. There was so much, so much to be done in this late age where they had awoken. This Talonis felt keenly. But Gos was right: he could hear something new, something wrong.

"Someone searches the Datasong; someone I do not know." It was a disturbing violation, a presence that felt like a Raptor but not anyone he recognised, not even the traitorous freak Darkhawk. "Contact Tercel. We must discover the meaning of this intrusion immediately."


	8. Chapter 8

_The_ New Wundagore III  
 _Off Knowhere_

It had been a long day, for everybody. Vance felt exhausted, wrung out. Spartax and the next step on their search could wait until tomorrow.

He stopped in the hallway with the door to his room on one side and the door to Kaine's on the other and stood there, too damned tired to even decide which way to go. It would feel so good to just lie down with Kaine's arms around him, but he didn't even know if Kaine was in there. 

They had sex, but they didn't sleep together much. Vance usually woke up in the mornings to find Kaine long gone. At first, he'd assumed it was an intimacy issue—and, okay, to be fair, Kaine had plenty of intimacy issues—but now he was thinking it was more that Kaine just didn't sleep much. 

Vance's eyes were drifting closed. He let out a deep breath and keyed open the sliding door to his room. 

The next morning, morning being an arbitrary concept out here on the edge of time and space, Vance pulled on some sweats and threw in a load of laundry before continuing his morning routine. 

Turning everything on its side had disrupted his favourite routes, but there were still plenty of stairs around. On his way down to check things out, Vance ran into one of the future Guardians in the corridor. 

"Good morning. Geena, right?"

She nodded. "Hi. Um...Vance."

Vance grimaced awkwardly. "For once, 'Justice' might be less weird."

Geena sighed. "I should think up a codename, or Charlie-27 will just keep calling me 'Sweetgenes' forever."

"I was about to go running; care to join us?"

"Us?"

Vance flashed her a conspiratorial grin and gestured her to follow him down the hall, where he knocked on the door to Selah's room. "You up yet?"

"Fall in a hole and die," came the muffled response from inside.

Geena bit her lip to stifle a laugh. 

"You're the one who wanted to be a superhero," Vance reminded her heartlessly. "You wanted to train this summer, you said. Well, this is training."

"Come on, we're in space! Isn't that like being on vacation?"

"We can run past some windows," Vance offered.

They waited while a series of aggravated thumps progressed towards the door, which opened at last to reveal Selah dressed for running, her curly hair still somewhat frizzier than usual and her light brown eyes squinting murderously at Vance's smiling face. For someone who called herself Sun Girl, Selah was not a morning person.

"I hate you."

"I find it hard to believe you were exercising while I was in Houston," Vance said, leading off.

"I exercise at a reasonable hour, like a normal human being, " Selah muttered, her complaints interrupted by a yawn. "It is summer, I no longer even have to pretend that morning exists."

"Give me three miles and you can have some coffee," Vance relented.

Selah made an indecent sound. "I would kiss you, but your boyfriend scares me."

"Hah!" Geena exclaimed for no discernible reason.

Selah almost tripped. "Holy crap, I did not even see you there, girl. Future-girl, right?

"Geena Drake," Geena introduced herself.

"Selah or Sun Girl, whichever," Selah said, brushing the short curls out of her eyes. "Please tell me he at least warned you what you're getting into here." 

Geena shrugged. "I haven't known what I was getting into since the Guardians rescued me from that labour camp; hasn't stopped me so far. And it feels good to stretch my legs," Geena said, rolling her shoulders. " _Ship_ gets a little crowded after a day or two."

"Labour camp? What kind of future are you from?" Selah asked, starting to be alarmed.

"None, if we can't figure out what's going wrong here in the past," Geena said grimly.

"The version I heard involved nuclear winter, a climate crisis, and a Badoon invasion," Vance offered.

"That's terrible!"

Vance bit his tongue to stop himself from asking whether she meant the Guardians' future or the flight of stairs they were coming up on. Mounting it took all their breath, and Vance slowed a little at the top to give them a chance to recover.

They meandered at semi-random through Wundagore's unoccupied levels. There were a few more stairways than even Vance was used to, resulting in smug looks from Selah at his heavy breathing. He did manage to find some nice views, though. 

The Rip was...Vance was at a loss for words to even try to describe it. Refracted light swirled in titanic eddies and backwashes right outside the windows. Colours he didn't have names for blazed with all the vibrancy of living fire. Sometimes they formed solid walls of light, and sometimes they seemed to hardly have any substance at all, translucent and insubstantial, only there was nothing to be seen past their flickering glow. Layer upon layer, twisting through and over and around vertiginously. Something like golden lightning jumped and traced its way through the fantastic clouds. It was the most amazing thing Vance had ever seen in his entire life, and he'd been out there, in the middle of it. 

It shouldn't have been beautiful. Those billows of dust shimmering out there were formed from the crumbled remnants of reality. This was the literal end of the universe, where all space-time ran out. It dwarfed even the gargantuan head that was Knowhere, remains of what had once been a member of one of the oldest and most powerful races ever to exist. 

Flushed as he was with exertion, it still raised goosebumps on Vance's arms. It was only with reluctance that Vance steered them back towards _Wundagore_ 's inner areas and the coffee he'd promised Selah. 

She and Geena were both holding up well. The look of focus on both of their faces was uncannily similar, although Selah was still giving voice to the occasional hostile mutter. 

Because they _were_ active out here and there was no telling what they would run into today, Vance skipped the wind-sprints. Although the speed Selah made down the final stretch of hall to the kitchen was impressive. 

Mark, seeing her coming, took a hasty step back from the coffee machine; but he was too late. Selah descended on him, seizing the mug of coffee he'd just poured and taking his hand with it. Her eyes fluttered closed in ecstasy as she took her first sip and she made a little sound of satisfaction into the mug.

Mark's expression hovered between stunned and trapped, a slow flush creeping up his neck. Selah's eyes blinked open and her smile froze self-consciously. Neither of them moved.

"Um." With slightly jerky motions, Selah let go of the mug. "Sorry about that."

"...It's fine," Mark managed at last.

Blandly, Vance held out a fresh cup. Selah took it gratefully, burying her face in the rising steam.

"How long has that been going on?" Geena asked quietly, accepting a mug of her own and adding sugar to it somewhat experimentally.

Vance smiled a little, using the excuse of finding an unnecessary spoon to stir in his creamer to move their conversation a little further from Mark and Selah. "A little while."

Footsteps in the corridor signalled the arrival of some other early risers, interrupting the moment. It looked like Chris had managed to catch up on his sleep, and a few of the future Guardians were trailing along after him.

"Hey, Sweetgenes," Charlie-27 greeted Geena, looking almost as enormous as he had when Vance was a kid.

"I told you to stop calling me that," she told him.

Vance observed with some interest as Geena's cheeks, no longer flushed with exertion, coloured again now. He raised his eyebrows slightly at her. _So, how long has_ this _been going on?_

Geena responded by kicking him lightly on the shin. Vance decided it was time to go check on his laundry. 

Kaine was just stepping into the hallway as Vance came back carrying his basket. He was wearing his costume already but not his mask. 

"Good morning," Vance said brightly.

Kaine grunted but leaned in for casual kiss. He didn't pull back afterwards, instead sliding a hand up under Vance's sweaty tank-top. 

"Going to take a shower?" Kaine asked.

Vance's pulse quickened. He smoothed a hand over the front of Kaine's uniform. "...Yeah."

"Wash your back?" Kaine's lips brushed Vance's as he spoke.

Vance extended his power to open his door, letting go of his basket with his hand and floating it through telekinetically. Kaine walked him backwards after it.

The door slid shut as he pushed Vance's shirt off. They left a trail of clothing leading into the bathroom, greedily baring skin. 

One of Kaine's hands reached out to turn on the water while the other pulled Vance in close. They kissed while it warmed up. Vance had already shaved, but Kaine hadn't. Biting down on Kaine's sandpapery lower lip, he pulled back slowly. 

"Water's hot," Vance told him.

"You're in a mood today," Kaine observed, not unhappily, following him under the spray.

He caught up with Vance before he had a chance to turn around and goosed him. Vance leaned trustingly into the solid bulwark of his chest. 

"I guess so," Vance agreed, tipping his head back onto Kaine's shoulder. Water instantly plastered his hair all over his face.

Obligingly, Kaine kissed him. His arms slid around Vance, securing him, and one hand dropped down to cup his filling cock. 

He could feel Kaine's dick prodding him from behind. It was trapped between Vance's legs, nudging his balls as Kaine rocked their hips together. 

Vance's arms had come up to cover Kaine's, accepting now the comfort he'd needed last night. They always got there eventually. It was a good thought.

He watched as Kaine stroked him to full hardness, the falling water making everything slippery. The muscles in Kaine's arm flexed as he jerked Vance. He resettled his grip, tighter now, and increased his pace. 

Vance swayed with him, the head of Kaine's dick rubbing back and forth over sensitive skin. The air was thick and warm and he could feel the familiar prickle of Kaine's stubble along the side of his face and neck. Little grunts of effort and appreciation sounded right in Vance's ear.

He reached back to run his fingers over Kaine's wet hair, nails raking over his scalp and down the back of his neck. Sneakily, he also angled Kaine's head so he could reach his mouth. 

He arched, one of Kaine's hands now anchoring his hip as he fucked between Vance's legs while the other pumped Vance's cock. Vance sucked on his tongue. He wanted more; he wanted it all. He wanted, really badly, to come. 

"Kaine," he gasped, and it was a plea or it was a warning. Then, "Kaine!" as Kaine's hand tightened around the base of his cock and choked off his orgasm. 

Vance was panting and desperate. Kaine's dick rubbed maddeningly just right up behind his balls, and he wanted to _come_ , he wanted it _in_ him. 

Kaine let go, but he wouldn't let him turn around, instead nudging his feet closer together so his thighs were pressed tight around Kaine's dick. For a while, he let Vance's stand, nothing touching it except the spray from the shower head, and rolled Vance's balls in his palm as he thrust his cock now harder than before. Vance was surprised at how good it felt.

Kaine's hips snapped against Vance's ass, and he finally, _finally_ dragged his free hand over Vance's stomach to wrap around his dick again. Vance fell forward to brace himself against the wall of the shower, then pushed back, fumbling to grab hold of Kaine's slippery hips instead.

Kaine's ass flexed but did not yield even a little as Vance's fingers tried to dig in. You could bounce a freaking spaceship off of it. 

Vance squeezed his eyes shut, not that it was voluntary. They were surrounded by the hiss of water from the showerhead, the obscenely slick slapping of wet flesh, their own voices and heavy breathing. There was a lot of incoherent babbling, pleading and encouragement. Kaine's head was bent to Vance's shoulder, bared teeth pressed against his skin.

Vance gasped noisily when he came at last. Kaine squeezed it out of him, working harder and harder for his own. He readjusted his grip to a more secure hold, so when he came, he came with his arms wrapped around Vance. 

He laid his hands over Kaine's white-knuckled fists, his mind drifting idly over thoughts of bruises and surveillance camera placement and sex in front of giant panoramic windows onto space. Vance had gone to sleep lonely last night, but he'd had good dreams.

Now, he forced himself to keep moving. Kaine let him go a little reluctantly, and they finished washing. 

Kaine was already pulling on his costume by the time Vance got back out to the bedroom. He sorted through the laundry basket for his own, shaking it out to make sure no inadvertent socks were clinging to it or anything. 

Vance poked his head back into the kitchen long enough to grab an alien pastry and do a quick headcount. There was a larger cafeteria setup a few levels down, but so far it had been more convenient to just raid the attached larder and do any actual cooking up here. Even with all their extra guests, it was only a little crowded.

They were still missing a few people, though. Robbie probably hadn't gotten up yet, but Vance didn't see Sam or Sil either. He took a bite of pastry; minty bread: that was new.

"Sam wanted to go back to the floating head. He's using its brain to look for his father," Aracely told him.

Vance shouted a wake-up call to Robbie through his door as he passed; Robbie shouted back incoherently. Then he went up to the control room.

Jake Waffles was already there, programming a console on one of the walls. Major Victory was chatting with him, craning his neck to watch was Waffles was doing. Vance wondered how his older self managed to eat without breaking his suit's hermetic seal, or if the suit itself provided energy for his metabolism somehow, as a part of its stasis and regenerative effects. 

They looked up when Vance walked in. Polite good-mornings were exchanged all around, and Vance got right to the point.

"Either of you seen Kid Nova this morning?"

"He teleported over to Knowhere," Jake Waffles confirmed what Aracely had told him. "I think it was his intention to continue using the continuum cortex to search for his lost father as long as we remain here."

Vance nodded. "How about you? Did you get what you needed figured out yesterday in order to take us out?"

"Oh, yes. With the help of Knowhere's engineers, I should be able to teleport us right into Spartax orbit."

"Um, maybe we should try for the edge of the system," Vance suggested. Major Victory, who had opened his mouth at the same time, closed it again and gave a little approving nod. "Remember what happened with the Avengers."

Jake Waffles barked a laugh. Vance was starting to suspect him of a sense of humour.

"Once we have left the vicinity of Knowhere, we will have to rely on conventional superluminal drive, however. The calculations for interstellar teleportation are far too complicated and require positional data not stored in our records. Also, on our own _Wundagore_ is only capable of quantum quasi-teleportation."

"Understood. Patch me in to Sam, then, please. We'll be heading out as soon as everyone's done with breakfast," Vance decided.

Sam sent a file over before teleporting back. He seemed in good spirits; Vance made a mental note to check in with him and see if he'd managed to find any leads on his side of this quest while they were here.

"Have you called back Silhouette and Water Snake yet?" Sam asked when he was back with them.

Vance blinked. "Did they go somewhere?" 

"They were with Gamora. We all teleported over together," Sam added.

"Okay. Thanks, Sam," Vance said, rubbing his forehead.

"I was getting to it," Jake Waffles said in response to the look Vance gave him.

"No, it's fine. But put me through to Sil; I'll let them know we're ready when they are."

The others were starting to filter in now in varying states of wakefulness, some still clutching mugs of coffee. Kaine had retreated almost to the ceiling, perching high on the wall in a corner that gave him a view over the entire room. 

"Well, that's not creepy at all," Star-Lord muttered.

"You get used to it," Selah told him. She'd smoothed the frizz out of her curls and suited up; under her goggles, her makeup was probably as immaculate as her costume.

"You haven't," Aracely said.

Charlie-27 laughed. "Yondu looks like he wishes he was up there with him."

"There is nothing wrong with seeking a position of good vantage," Angela, Gamora's well-armed friend, said. 

"Unless he's going to use it to murder us all," said Star-Lord.

"Just keep talking," Kaine replied.

"Nobody's getting murdered," Vance cut across the chatter. 

"Well, the day is young yet," Gamora said, stepping literally out of thin air. 

Vance exchanged a slightly saturnine look with his older self. Major Victory sighed. 

"Gamora, I don't know what happened between you and Peter Quill, but I'd appreciate it if you didn't kill him before we get a chance to find out some things."

Gamora sniffed, returning him a level look and folding her arms inside her actually kind of spine-chilling cape lined with cosmic night, then turned on her heel and went to stand by Angela. Sil and Faira had teleported in beside her. Seeing Sil without the crutches was still a shock, and Vance couldn't help smiling as she walked over.

"Sorry for holding you up," she said.

"Are you kidding? We just managed to shoehorn Robbie out of bed."

One corner of Sil's mouth kicked up. "Gamora offered to let me raid the Guardians' armoury." She twirled something that looked like a metal escrima stick. There was a second in her other hand. "Believe it or not, I actually found something non-lethal." 

"And I suppose you're taking it easy?" 

"We didn't get into any fights, dad," Sil teased.

"That's not what I meant," said Vance, refusing to be derailed. "Just make sure you're taking care of yourself."

Sil returned him a hard look. "I took care of myself just fine without my legs; you think I can't do better _with_ them? Or would you like a demonstration?" 

"I would love one, but not right now," Vance told her with a straight face.

That actually surprised a laugh out of Sil. "I don't know how you do that, sometimes."

Vance smiled back a little lopsidedly. "I took some classes on conflict resolution. I mean besides the years on a team with Dwayne and Rich."

Sil sighed, shaking her head. "Those two. Tell me, do you really think Rich is alive?"

Vance pursed his lips and met her striking eyes honestly. "I think it's possible. You didn't see him the last couple times he visited, but he was seriously loaded up. We've got four people out here, all of them last seen alive: that's good enough odds from me. Plus," Vance added philosophically, "apparently time and space are flying apart at the seams, so there's always that to fall back on." 

"Oh, good. I was worried space might end up being boring or something," said Sil sarcastically.

"Standing by for teleport," Jake Waffles broke in.

Clearing his throat, Vance swept a glance over the control room. Everyone was watching him expectantly.

He nodded at Jake Waffles. "Let's go."

 

_The Imperial Palace_   
_Spartax_

"Peter."

"Hold on—"

"President Quill—"

"I said gimme a minute."

" _Peter_."

"Mister President—"

"Look, honey—"

"Peter!"

Peter Quill flung his arms in the air. "Will you all just shut up?"

His fiancée's eyes narrowed dangerously.

"Everyone except Kitty, my darling, sweetest, light of my heart, who is of course always allowed to keep yelling at me. In fact, Kitty, if I am telling someone to shut up, you can just always assume that I am talking to everyone else. Even if we're alone. If we're alone, I will absolutely be yelling at myself to shut up. Actually, that sounds like good advice, I'll just do that now."

Golgug blinked at him. The hard line of Kitty's mouth was twisting up in amusement, though. Peter smiled at her roguishly.

Golgug cleared his throat. Spoilsport.

"Yes, if I may, President Quill, we have just received a report of a large spacecraft appearing on the edge of our system. It has been identified as belonging to the individual known as the High Evolutionary."

Peter frowned. "Wait. I've heard that name before."

"Indeed. Records indicate that the High Evolutionary is at best an individual of somewhat...unpredictable motivations," Golgug said.

"Didn't he get into a fistfight with Galactus once or something?" Kitty asked, scrunching up her nose.

"Just so long as they're not on the same diet," Peter said lightly. "Okay, well, ring him up, I guess, and we'll see whether this is just a social call. Get my Galactic Council of trouble shooters up here, too."

Kitty nudged him with her shoulder. "Trouble-shooters? As in, there's trouble, they shoot it?" she asked in an undertone.

"Smart cookie." Peter kissed the top of her head. "Your hair smells _great_."

"Focus," she reminded him, worming an arm around his waist.

"I am _very_ focussed," Peter murmured in her ear.

"Also not alone," Kitty sang under her breath.

Peter heaved a sigh and straightened; Kitty poked him in the ribs, eyes sparkling. Reluctantly, he let her go as the thoroughly respectable planetary advisors formerly know as the Guardians of the Galaxy clomped into his presidential office. It was a nice office, but disappointingly square. When you got elected president, your desk was supposed to be in a round room; that was just the way it went. For a grandstanding evil emperor, Peter's father had no sense of style. 

That reminded Peter: he seriously needed to redecorate. Things he did not need: to be reminded of his fratacking, schlag-licking father every time he walked in a room. This place was just a little too Empire Strikes Back for comfort. Although with Drax in charge of the army, hopefully they wouldn't turn out to be fielding stormtroopers. 

Walking in behind Venom, Drax looked about as happy as he ever looked when he wasn't actively destroying something. Peter and Rocket had a bet going on how long it would be before Golgug nerved himself to suggest Drax start wearing a shirt. Rocket had wanted to do how many limbs he would lose, too, but that was just morbid.

"So what's invading now?" Rocket asked cavalierly, hopping up onto Peter's desk.

Peter considered kicking his smelly little raccoon butt off, but honestly, he had lived in spaceships smaller than this desk. Come to think of it, Peter wasn't entirely certain that it wasn't capable of space-flight.

"Is my desk an escape pod?" Peter asked.

"Don't be absurd," Golgug said impatiently. "It's the secure station where you wait while the ship gets to you. We've replaced it with the latest tech since your father used it to escape the plebeian mobs."

Peter blinked at him. "My desk is a panic room?"

"I am Groot," said someone, Peter didn't quite catch who.

"He's right; you sure you want to marry into that family?" Rocket asked Kitty.

"Hey, Golgug, are coonskin caps traditional Spartoi marriage garb?" Peter raised his eyebrows challengingly at the shortest and furriest member of his ersatz cabinet. 

"Is this about wedding planning?" Venom asked, beginning to look alarmed. "I thought we were under attack."

"I can't believe I have to tell _Venom_ not to be such a baby," Kitty teased him. "Didn't you used to go around threatening to eat people's brains like a big, slimy alien zombie? Yuck."

"Pretty sure we've established that was a completely different guy," Venom started, then noticed her grin. "Oh, real nice."

"There _is_ in fact a potential threat impending," Golgug interjected. 

"Potential or actual?" Peter asked, poking at his desk. "Okay, now I'm afraid this thing is going to swallow me if I touch it wrong. Let's see if the Lord Grand High Poobah will take our call."

He finally managed to call up a com channel; some flunky had flagged the vessel in question for him. Neat. 

Peter punched it through. A com screen flashed to life on the holo-display in front of him. It showed him a close-up on the droopy face of a basset hound.

"More pets?" Drax grumbled.

Peter checked the channel again. "Uh, hello?" 

"Who is calling, please?" the dog asked in a pleasant baritone.

"St—that is, Peter Quill, President of the Spartoi Empire. Look, have I reached the High Evolutionary's ship?"

The dog seemed to think about that. "Yes. Well, no. That is—"

"Oh for scrod's sake. Quill, is that you?" a familiar voice interrupted.

"Hey! Gamora!" Rocket scooted across the top of Peter's desk, into range of the image pick-up. Peter pushed him back out of the way, which absolutely did not derail into a brief slap-fight.

"I told you she'd come back," Kitty told him.

"That was fast. Is Thanos dead? I have to say, I'm a little hurt I wasn't invited to the funeral," Peter said.

"His funeral isn't the one you should be worrying about." 

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Gamora had delivered that line like a death sentence, but that was just how Gamora talked, most of the time. Peter was reasonably certain that with Drax at his back, Gamora would not announce herself if she'd actually come here to kill him.

"We will speak in person," Gamora said and cut the com.

Peter left it to space traffic control to direct Gamora and whatever she had with her up there into orbit, or at least direct everyone else out of her way and told them to let him know when her shuttle dropped. So his spit-take was completely understandable when Gamora and like a dozen other people materialised in front of him halfway through a gulp of Knowhere-spoiled-him-because-only-Earth-grows-coffee-but-hey-caffeine. Maybe they could import some plants. New industry. Very responsible governing.

"Well, that's not what I was expecting," Peter rasped as soon as he was done choking.

"Oh, no, why did you bring these guys back?" Rocket complained.

He was right; Peter recognised some of these guys, but none of them had a pink handle on their heads. One of them had a very familiar shield, though.

Kitty looked at him. "I don't get it; who are they?"

Peter rose to his feet and took her hand. "Honey, meet the Guardians of the Galaxy." 

Kitty's expression was not less confused. "Oh, is this like whenever we had two teams of X-Men?"

Peter tilted his head back and forth, considering. "More like whenever you suddenly had two versions of the X-Men. Except these guys are from the future. Also, I would like to emphasise that I am in no way responsible for their being here. Well, except for that one, maybe." Peter waved his mug at Major Victory. "But not the time-travel part, just a spot of rescuing. Hey, Gamora, are you in charge of this mess?"

Gamora turned to address some human kid Peter didn't recognise. "There. This is Peter Quill. Ask him your questions."

Peter glanced between them suspiciously. "I am definitely too young to be your father," he said right off.

Kitty crossed her arms. "I find it interesting that that's what you lead with."

"That's not why we're here," said the kid in the cape.

"Oh. Good. In that case, I am in fact Peter Quill."

The kid stuck out his hand. "Pleased to meet you; Vance Astro—"

"Oh flark, not another one," Rocket said.

"—vik," the kid finished.

Peter extended his own hand, then hesitated. "Just tell me you're not Guardians of the Galaxy, too."

"No, we're the New Warriors."

Peter shook hands with the kid. Firm grip. 

"We think some of our teammates are lost in space," put in another kid in a superhero suit.

"Danger, Will Robinson, danger," Peter responded out of spinal reflex. "Hey, so, Astro, Astrovik—are you guys related?"

 

"How could you not have made the connexion there?"

Gamora shrugged. "I just assumed it was a common name among humans."

"It's obvious; they smell almost the same," Rocket said. 

"Thanks; I'll be sure and get a good whiff the next time I see them," Peter said drily.

"Look at the face he was hiding under that suit, though."

He'd had the other Guardians and the New Warriors parked in guest quarters or something, where they'd be out of the way until Peter managed to get Golgug and Togth to leave him alone. This place was ridiculous. Already, Peter missed the days when he could just punch out whoever was irritating him. He supposed he could technically do that, but the good delegates would only come back when they regained consciousness, and also that was the kind of thing his father would have done. Well, maybe not so much punched as summarily executed or banished to a hard labour camp. Dear old dad.

"How'd you and Angela get mixed up with this grab bag anyway?" Peter asked Gamora as they all trooped down one of the vaulted Walt Disney castle corridors of the palace.

"Their search interests me."

Peter's brow wrinkled. "They're looking to gark Thanos, too? Don't you think he's a bit above their weight class?"

"They're not looking for Thanos. They're looking for Richard Rider."

Peter stopped walking. "Come on, Gamora, I thought you'd gotten past that. He asked me not to go into all the gory details. Gone is gone, right?"

Gamora didn't reply.

Peter's attention sharpened on her. "Gamora? Do you know something I don't with this whole cosmic deal you've got going on now?"

Gamora hesitated, which was unusual. "I'm not sure. This level of perception...it's still very new."

"Well, that's not helpful at all," Drax said.

"They are also under the impression that one of their number has joined Richard's brother in the company of the former Nova Corps," Gamora said.

Peter scratched his head, turning to Kitty, who was attached to his other arm. "Them, we can probably dig up. Kitty, you used to live on Earth."

"So did you," Kitty pointed out.

"I mean recently. The X-Men ever run into these warrior guys?"

"Not really. Just that some super-villain blew up a school when they were shooting this stupid reality show and touched off a major schism in the superhero community. Thanos is totally above their weight-class. Also, the Scarlet Spider is definitely a jerk."

"Shoot 'em all," Racoon said into the silence that followed.

"I'm with him," said Drax.

"Now, now, Drax baby, " Peter said placatingly. "Okay, let's go in."

"Should I be concerned that you call him 'Drax baby'?" Kitty leaned in to ask in a low voice.

"Only that one of these days he'll snap and destroy me for it," Peter reassured her.

Well, Spartax apparently put guests up in style. And despite Kitty's less-than-reassuring intel, they hadn't managed to set the place on fire. Let he who had never accidentally handed Ultron the reigns of a galactic empire throw the first stone, Peter figured.

"Your Majesty." The young Vance—Peter decided he was going with 'Justice' and 'Major Victory' no matter how stupid that sounded, just to keep down his internal confusion—rose to greet them.

"This kid's got manners. I like it." Peter clapped him on the shoulder. "Seriously, relax. Gamora's filled me in a little; how about you tell me what you're looking to accomplish out here."

Justice settled back into an only slightly weird alien armchair, adjusting his cape. Peter flung himself down into the one across from it. 

"Gamora told me that if I wanted to know what happened to Rich—Nova—to ask you."

Peter blew out a long breath. "He was a friend of yours?"

"Yeah. He helped found this team."

Ouch. "I promised him I wouldn't, but svelte, green, and deadly over there already dragged it out of me, so what the hell? It was pretty bleak. We threw Thanos into this nightmare dimension, Cancerverse, whatever you want to call it as a last-ditch ploy. And, hey, it worked; everyone was bailing out as fast as they could haul ass. But there was still a big purple elephant in the Lovecraftian nightmare zone. If we weren't careful, Thanos was going to sneak out behind us, and, you know. Thanos."

"I've seen some examples of his recent work," Justice said grimly.

"Sure. Well, Rich and I figured by staying behind, we could trap him on that side of the Fault while everything finished collapsing," Peter continued fidgeting with a hangnail instead of meeting Justice's eyes. "Which would have been fine, if the damned place had finished collapsing. Fine-ish. As fine as suicide missions get, you know."

Yup, he had everyone's attention now. Peter flicked a glance over at Drax, who was listening with the usual closed expression on his green mug. "Drax baby, help me out here."

"There was a fight for Peter's cosmic cube."

"I had a cosmic cube," Peter interjected. "A little cracked, but still."

"Nothing would stay dead. Not me, not Thanos. Not the other bad guys."

"Rich made a call. With the cube and the Nova Force, he thought he could send Drax and me out. We had to do something: we were going to lose eventually if we kept trying to play keep-away with the thing. Thanos would eventually get his grubby little hands on it again, and if _he_ escaped, he certainly wasn't going to be taking any of us with him. And that's the last I saw of him, standing over Thanos with one hand hacked off and the cosmic cube in the other."

Silence. Peter swung his head around to see how everyone was taking this. Mixed. 

"So. What do things look like from your end? What makes you think Rich is out here somewhere?" he asked.

"Kid Nova, for one." Ball-guy or whoever he was, with the weird voice and the crazy hair, jerked a thumb at the super-teen in question.

"...Has access to the Nova Force when no one else has since we lost Rich. Duh. I am so stupid."

"Well..."

"Speedball," Justice cut him off. Speedball, right.

"Also, less with the 'kid'," Kid Nova said. "When I was hiding the Black Vortex, it sort of...burped up the old Nova's helmet. I didn't bring it up because of all the other crazy."

That was so weird. "I don't think Rich was wearing his helmet," Peter said.

"He wasn't," Drax confirmed. "It got knocked off in the fight."

"And by all accounts that cosmic cube did not act like it was supposed to, or else we wouldn't have an extra city parked in the middle of the Hudson. You said it was cracked?" Justice asked.

"There was a bit of a fracas. Plus, have you ever tried to drive one of those things? The learning curve is a bitch. Thanos tried to obliterate Drax, and all he ended up doing was changing his zip code. There's a reason they call the things 'cosmic'."

"So there's some question," Justice pressed.

Peter rubbed his face. "I didn't used to think so. But...maybe. There's stuff going on we don't understand, anyway." 

"Well, that's nothing new," muttered Rocket, who had remained remarkably silent up to this point. That was actually worrying. If Rocket was quiet, it meant he was thinking. 

"So, what's your plan?" Rocket continued.

Justice was really handling the talking racoon thing pretty well. "Rob Rider, Rich's brother. Apparently he thinks he can backtrack Kid Nova's access to the Nova Force to Rich. He and Namorita are supposedly out with whatever's left of the rebuilt Nova Corps. We were hoping you guys might know where they went."

"Rocket?" Peter asked. "I was out of touch for a while after getting booted out of the Cancerverse, and being as how everyone thought I was dead, they kind of left me out of the loop right after."

"We left 'em on Earth, but I think we still have scans of the Nova vessel logged somewhere," Rocket said.

"Awesome. Shoot that up to their ship, and I'll have someone try to flag down Quasar next time he whizzes through the quadrant; he was working with Rich leading up to that whole mess. And, on the down-low, you might want to keep your eyes peeled for a guy who calls himself Darkhawk too. If he's smart, he's under a rock someplace, hiding from intergalactic extradition and, you know, lynch mobs. Lilandra Neramani was one of your more popular rulers, and gunning down the Shi'ar Majestrix is not the kind of thing those guys are gonna let go of in a hurry."

"He what now?" Justice blurted incredulously.

"No way," Speedball? Speedball said.

"He did it in front of thousands of witnesses," Drax told them.

"Plus that broadband psychic APB the Shi'ar have been circulating," Rocket added helpfully.

Justice looked troubled. Peter tactfully refrained, as leader of a multi-planetary power, from asking him if he knew the whereabouts of an intergalactic fugitive. If they weren't in touch with Rich's little brother themselves, where _were_ they getting this information from?

"Another old friend?" he hazarded more circumspectly.

Justice met his eyes, guarded. "From a ways back. I can tell you, whatever the cameras saw can't be the whole story."

"Not to change the topic," broke in Major Victory, "but are your Guardians still in the business of stopping the disintegration of space-time?"

 

Dinner that night was, if not quite a banquet, definitely more formal than anything Vance had seen since moving out of Avengers Mansion. Actually, the evening was reminding him increasingly of Avengers gatherings. It had moved from the dining room into a space too nicely decorated to be called anything other than a parlour. There were wall-to-wall superheroes exchanging stories that you could never be really sure weren't completely fabricated, but had to take seriously anyway in case you had the same problem next week.

Sam had gone back up to the ship after dinner. Vance had told him he didn't have to, but then he was half-convinced the kid was actually out scouring space for his father. Thoughts of his own father kept Vance from making an issue of it. Jake hadn't called in yet to say Sam had gone anywhere, and Vance at least planned on staying sober enough to back him up if necessary.

Most of them were gathered on and around a bunch of comfortable furniture in the middle of the room, drinks in hand. Off to one side, Geena and Charlie-27 were trying to teach Selah, Mark, and a very confused-looking Faira some kind of future card game. Drax the actual Destroyer watched, looking like he was trying not to laugh. Out on the balcony, Gamora and Angela were looking pretty cosy. Briefly, Vance wondered about Rich. 

Behind him, Kaine was perched on the corner of the couch, distractingly tense and impossible to ignore. Aracely was floating. Sil looked tired, but also like she was never going to sit down again. And Robbie was making friends with a walking, talking tree. 

"So, this Deadliest Woman in the Galaxy bit," Robbie asked, glancing over at Gamora to make sure she was out of earshot. "I'll buy it, sure. But which galaxy?"

"Whichever one she's standing in," Venom said.

"I am Groot," Groot agreed.

"You're my kind of people. Treeople," Robbie said.

"I am Groot."

"Most people ask about Groot," Quill was telling Aracely.

"He has already told me all about himself," she said. "He is Groot! Is that really a racoon, though?" she asked earnestly, staring wide-eyed at where Rocket was conversing with Major Victory and the Centaurian, Yondu. His paws described a series of violent-looking actions. 

"Oh, yeah. You should go ask him about it. He loves talking about himself," Quill said.

Aracely beamed blindingly and bounced immediately towards the other group.

"That was not a nice thing to do," Venom told Quill reproachfully. 

Vance's head nearly exploded with cognitive dissonance. He knew the symbiote had switched hosts before, but something else had obviously changed. Vance had been as surprised as anyone—well, not Kaine; Kaine had seemed perturbed more than surprised—to hear Venom using complete sentences that didn't include the words 'eat' and 'brains'. Hell, he'd been using silverware at dinner. 

"I didn't notice you stopping me," Quill replied innocuously.

Venom tried to control a smirk. It was weirdly non-slavering. 

He and Kaine had been watching each other warily all day. Vance had noticed that Kaine was careful to keep his body between Venom and Aracely earlier, and he was crouched, Vance wasn't imagining it, protectively close to him now. From Kaine, it read as a pretty sweet gesture, actually.

"Did you want something?" Kaine was asking, folding his arms pugnaciously.

"You're the one who's been staring at me all night," Venom said, stepping closer.

"Back off, would you? In case you don't remember, that thing you're wearing freaks out whenever I get near it," Kaine said.

"It feels bad about that," Venom offered. 

"Oh, does it now?"

"I'm feeling less and less sorry as this conversation goes on, though."

Kaine leaned forward, coiled to spring. "Bet I can change that."

"Well, you've mellowed," Venom said. 

"Really?" asked Robbie curiously.

"He has, actually," Shadowcat said with a sour expression on her face. 

Some history there, too. Kaine had maybe not made the best impression on the X-Men. Vance wasn't entirely certain he wanted to know the whole story.

"Okay, there was a reason for that," Kaine told her defensively.

"You get used to it, at least," Vance said.

"Really?" Venom repeated sceptically.

Vance shrugged. "I came up as a superhero alongside a guy who _literally_ calls himself Rage. Our team leader recruited Rich—the original Nova—by dropping him off a building. That's two angry young black men and _Speedball_ ," Vance jerked his chin at Robbie, who made a face back, "fighting street crime. Give me some credit. Thrash used to actually list anger as a planning objective."

"Hey, I was tight with those guys. But you're right: it's not the New Warriors without borderline Hulk-level anger management issues," Robbie said lightly. 

Sil rolled her eyes. "So true. The _Punisher_ told Thrash he should try talking out his problems. The Punisher. I was there."

"You don't have to tell me: I was on a team with Wolverine for forever," Shadowcat said.

"I am _not_ a flarking raccoon!" Rocket exploded.

Venom and Quill collapsed in gales of laughter. Shadowcat just shook her head.

Kaine glowered sulkily at them all. "I should have stayed in Mexico."

 

_Interstellar Space_

The Silver Surfer was uneasy, and he did not know why. There was nothing untoward in the field of unwinking actinic sparks that were near stars and distant galaxies, spreading out around him in every direction. There was not even anything that might disturb his contemplation.

Lately, life had been as uneventful for the Silver Surfer as it could be for someone who trailed Galactus along in his wake. The demise of Hala had shocked the intergalactic community more than any event since the Annihilation Wave. Events surrounding the Fault may have been catastrophic, but hostilities between Kree and Shi'ar were hardly surprising, and frankly no one with half a mind had expected any good to come from a gash in reality.

But the Kree had always persevered: it was a constant. And, damaged as events had left them, they had still been a power to be taken into account.

Now, the remains of the Kree had turned their attention inward as so many civilisations were doing in the face of wave after wave of universal catastrophe. The space lanes teemed with refugees and pirates, not trade fleets, with the Xandarians gone at last and many of the other powers unable to police even their own space.

Those, however, were problems the Silver Surfer was quite aware of. Intergalactic culture would rebuild and adapt, or it would not. A mere matter of politics, the social dynamics of empires, which were never as stable as most beings liked to think. It took more than that to disturb a herald of Galactus.

And yet, it was nothing obvious. Perhaps the accumulated disruption and disaster of the past several years was merely reverberating back to him through the power cosmic. 

The Silver Surfer paused, willing to listen if the universe were trying to tell him something. The feeling remained too tenuous to explore.

Perhaps the disquiet was not his own, but his master's. That was a daunting thought indeed. What could unsettle Galactus?

That, by all that was merciful, was not the concern of the Silver Surfer until and unless his master deemed otherwise. He shifted his balance, the board by which he was known sliding smoothly into motion on the currents of cosmic energy that powered them both.


	9. Chapter 9

_Spartax_

Finding Namorita and Rob Rider was almost anticlimactic. It took all of two days for Peter Quill to unearth a flight plan for the _Resolute Duty_ , the defunct corps' vessel. 

"I knew Quasar'd be keeping tabs on them," Quill had said, reclining with his feet up on his desk. Both had obviously started out the day polished to mirror-glossiness, and both had already acquired several scuffs. "He's off helping at a completely different disaster area, but he said he'd try and catch up when he could."

"I don't know how I can thank you," Vance said fervently.

Quill rubbed his face tiredly. "Thank me by sorting out the Nova Force and getting me a working Nova Corps patrolling the spaceways again. And finding out what really happened to Rich; it's about time we put that one to rest once and for all."

"That's the plan. We'll keep you updated," Vance promised. "Let's hope this trip's already gotten as exciting as it's going to get."

"I'll second that, but it's probably wishful thinking," Quill warned him.

 

"Hey, Sam," Vance greeted the young Nova as he entered the command deck. "Jake. Everybody on board?"

"Hello, Justice. Yes, and the future Guardians have taken their ship down to the planet," Jake Waffles replied.

"Great. We've got what we came for; let everyone know we're going to be warping out, if you would."

"At once." Jake Waffles punched the intercom on a panel off to the side of the main controls and started his address.

"How goes the search?" Vance asked Sam.

"Cosmo warned me that it was going to be a lot of data, but wow. So much data. I've got some hits, though."

Sam pulled up an article written in a script that was completely incomprehensible to Vance. The pictures were pretty clear, though: a scarred and battered-looking alien throwing himself into the arms of what were clearly his domestic partner and child. Then another and another.

Vance nodded, impressed. Sam's latest idea for finding his father was to track him through the string of escaped slave gladiators being reunited with their families, essentially mining the alien equivalent of #homefree. The Chitauri, if no one else, would have an interest in locating and recapturing their ship and its embarrassing crew, so it would make sense for Jesse Alexander to be trying to maintain a low profile. But these dramatic homecomings were too good of human-interest material, as it were, for any news service to resist making a story of it.

"Looks like you called it," Vance told him approvingly. "Do they fit with your timeline?"

Sam bit drummed his fingers next to the controls. "Mostly. I think they must have split into two groups. Look." Sam brought up a data screen and pointed at the distribution of points. "This one and these two couldn't have all been one ship, unless the Chitauri have figured out how to teleport like the High Evolutionary."

"Well, if you can pinpoint them, we can visit both groups. I don't have to tell you how big the universe is, though. It's possible some of your conflicting points will turn out to be something else if you dig a little deeper," Vance suggested thoughtfully.

"Yeah. All of this is at _least_ a couple of weeks old," Sam said unhappily.

"Welcome to the wonderful world of lag." Vance clapped him on the shoulder. "Leave that for a second; come with me."

"Why?" Sam asked, turning to follow Vance, not without a last glance over his shoulder at his search.

"Because you're going to learn how to fly this ship."

Sam stumbled a little. "What, really?" 

"Both of us. I've been going over the controls with Jake Waffles. It's definitely not a quinjet, but you should get the hang of it quickly enough. We really should have backup pilots. What if something happens to Waffles?"

"I hadn't thought of that," Sam admitted.

"Someone's got to be able to spell him or take over if he's needed to deal with something else, like emergency repairs. You and I are the next most experienced pilots on the team. Once we've got it figured out, I'll start teaching Selah." 

Selah had been doing well in their flight drills before they left Earth. Vance had been putting them all through their paces as much as he could. Some of the team were more cooperative than others. 

The bulkhead doors opened to admit Faira. She was still stalking around barefoot, the same as she had on Knowhere. Vance had had to suppress a cringe at that, but so far there had been no signs that she'd managed to catch any alien equivalent of tetanus. Were there shots they all should have gotten before coming out here? The Avengers hadn't mentioned anything. 

"Are we underway?" Faira didn't believe in small talk.

"Just about," Vance told her. "That is, if you're ready, Mister Waffles?"

"On your order," Jake Waffles said, stepping up to the main console. "Gather round, now."

"What are you waiting for? Go!" Faira snapped.

Waffles jumped into motion, his paw-like hands dancing over the panels. Vance stepped back to let Sam get a closer look at the controls. 

"Sublight thruster control and navigation display. Speed and acceleration are effected by pressure as well as hand-motion," Jake Waffles narrated, picking up a smooth metallic sphere from its divot to show them, then closing his fingers around it. A three-dimensional hologram had sprung to life in front of them; he pointed at it with his other hand. "That light there means we're patched in to the local grid. We're always at the centre, here. The display rotates with you." He demonstrated, turning the hand that held the control sphere. "Use the attitude marks for reference; it's easy to get turned around."

"What are those?" Sam pointed at a series of pale, round grids nested inside one another at regular intervals around their ship-dot.

Jake Waffles finished bringing the ship around and started accelerating. "Distance. I have it set to a few light minutes, but the scale is adjustable for interstellar space."

"Ships, stations, and other satellites, right?" Vance pointed to the symbols in turn. The planetary masses were fairly obvious.

Waffles nodded. "Normal-space controls are all over here; operational controls are here." He tapped two sections of the control board to his left before dropping his hand to one further down.

"What are you doing now?" Sam asked.

"Bringing up the coordinates, to calculate the bearing for our first warp. You want a good margin before you jump, out of atmosphere and away from other vessels. That's this indicator. The computer calculates the shock-wave."

"Right; my helmet does that when I open a stargate." Sam nodded.

"The inertial dampers are very good; the High Evolutionary was always very concerned that his equipment and most especially his experiments not be disrupted," Jake Waffles said, a little sadly. "That is why we handle like a barge. Well, and the size. But our hyperspace range is well above average. It should not take us long to catch up with your friends."

"How long?" Faira pressed.

"It may be a day or two yet, depending on how far along they are on their itinerary," Jake Waffles told her apologetically.

"And whether they're still following it," Vance reminded her. "Hopefully Quasar will catch up with us soon, in case we need some more help tracking them down."

They didn't, but it did take them a couple days. Vance spent a lot of it on the bridge, learning to work the flight controls. More often than not, Sam was up there with him, plugging away at his search when it wasn't his turn to shadow Waffles. It really was an enormous amount of data. Even limiting the range to the local group left a literally astronomical selection of newsfeeds to sort through.

Vance knew something about research himself. As long as he was up here anyway, he might as well pitch in. Sam's generation had grown up using Google, but this was going to take more than just a straightforward Boolean search. Sifting through actual alien communications, entire civilisations that lived out here among the stars...Vance actually felt kind of bad about how interesting it was for him. This was really serious for Sam.

Busy as he was, Vance did take time after the jumped out from Spartax to have a conversation with Chris. He caught up with him down in one of the gyms, the smallest one that saw the most use.

"Feeling a little cooped up?" Vance asked from the door, noting the vehemence with which Chris was pummelling the super-heavy bag.

Except for the attack at Knowhere, Chris had been keeping to the ship more than any of the rest of them, even Jake Waffles. Now Vance knew why. The confinement was probably getting to him. Or maybe it was the, you know, assassination of the beloved leader of a galactic empire. 

Vance didn't believe for a second that Chris was capable of cold-blooded murder, but _unintended fallout_ had become the team's middle name since they were kids. Whatever the bigger story was, Vance was getting the itching feeling that buzzing around out here without knowing it would only lead to trouble.

"Hey, Vance," Chris greeted him, not slowing.

"Careful; I think you could actually break your hand on that thing."

Chris huffed a laugh. "Yeah; who'd they make this thing for, the Hulk?"

"No, with Hulk I think he'd use the entire mountain," Vance said.

The smile that stretched Chris' lips was more like the grin of exertion. "If you came down here for a workout, you're not dressed for it."

Vance glanced down at his costume. His cape _would_ get tangled in a lot of this stuff.

"A conversation actually. I've been hearing some things that concern me. What happened to the Shi'ar Majestrix, Chris?"

Chris swung at the bag like he was trying to break his hand. "Nothing you'd believe."

"Well, according to Emperor Quill and every news agency operating in the Shi'ar Empire, you assassinated Lilandra Neramani, and I _know_ I don't believe that."

Amazingly, Chris actually stopped punching and dropped his fists, expelling a long breath. He bit his lip, then nodded sharply, finally meeting Vance's eyes.

"Yeah, okay. A while back, not too long after the Skrull Invasion, I'm living with my family in Long Island when two things drop out of the sky onto my house: one of those hunter drones, and another Darkhawk."

"There's another Darkhawk?" Vance whistled. "So it's a case of mistaken identity."

Chris shook his head, leaning against the wall. "It is so much worse than that. My armour had started freaking out again, reacting— _over_ reacting—to things on its own, so after we took down the hunter drone, when Talon told me he had answers, I went with him. Nothing else, I didn't want to lead more of that crap back to my family, you know?"

"Yeah, I know." 

"Right. Sorry. But it turns out that none of this Darkhawk stuff is what I thought. I was never supposed to use the armour; I'm just some kind of battery they plug in so one of these Raptor whack-jobs can walk around doing whatever they feel like," Chris said. "When Talon kicked me out of the armour, I woke up in a crystal hanging from a freaky tree in this freaky null dimension. There were _thousands_ of them, Vance. Thousands of amulets, and each one's a bad guy."

"What do they want?" Vance asked, trying to absorb all of this.

"They used to be some kind of Shi'ar secret society, making sure they always came out on top. I'm still not clear on exactly what happened, but they seem to have gotten their butts kicked pretty majorly a long time ago. What?"

Vance grimaced. "Nothing, it's just that after what happened to the Grey family, _Shi'ar secret society_ are every mutant's favourite words, right after _Kree weapons platform_. Those hunter drones might have something to do with it."

"I think they did. I think there was some kind of war. My armour hooks me up to some kind of information source, but there's just too much for my brain to process. It's old, Vance. Whatever happened ended thousands of years ago. This technology was never designed to interface with human biology."

"So what happened on Chandilar?" Vance asked. 

"While I was stuck being chased by demons up and down creepy mystic trees, the Raptor inhabiting my armour was running around free. _It_ killed the majestrix before I got control back from it." Chris slammed his fist against the wall. "If I'd figured it out just a minute sooner, she'd still be alive. And suddenly I'm in the middle of a riot with the X-Men, of all people, and the actual fucking _Gladiator_ trying to rip me limb from limb. You can see why I didn't exactly stick around to try and explain things."

Vance rubbed his forehead. "And this Talon?"

"Still out here, up to no good, no doubt. Other amulets have been showing up, too, ever since the Inhumans started ripping holes in space. I can track them through the Datasong, sometimes. That's what I was doing before some dickface drafted me into Survivor: Superpowered Edition."

"So there are an unknown number of hostiles running around stirring up trouble you're already getting blamed for, plus these hunter drones that are apparently programmed to attack anyone in Darkhawk armour with no regard for collateral damage," Vance summarised.

"It's not my fault," Chris protested defensively. "This mess was going on for ages before I found the amulet. If I wasn't Darkhawk, nothing would be different except no one would know about the Raptors." 

"Whoa, calm down." Vance raised his hands in a placating gesture. "All I was trying to say was, we never used to have these sorts of problems."

Chris stared at him for a moment, visibly simmering down. The punch he delivered to Vance's shoulder as he slumped back against the wall was mostly playful. "That's what we get for wanting into the big leagues, huh?"

"With great power must come colossal weirdness, as Spider-Man would no doubt say," Vance proclaimed sententiously.

Despite what Vance hoped was his outward show of calm confidence, he was so anxious that night he could hardly sleep. They were getting closer. First they'd find Namorita, then Rich, then Sam's father. They could really do this, _he_ could do this. 

Giving up on rest, at least for the moment, Vance threw on a shirt over his sweat pants and went wandering through the night-dimmed corridors of the base-cum-spaceship. He'd been half-hoping to run into Kaine, who was always good for a distraction (they may have gotten distracted earlier today in an empty room off the command deck; the excitement of flying a spaceship was making Vance...distractible). 

The lean figure he found lingering by the windows in the rec room wasn't Kaine, however. The oceanic hue of Faira's skin was washed out almost to grey by the faint light of their current starscape. They were parked for the night, or as parked as they could be under the circumstances, and the unwinking stars ran in thick streaks like silvery clouds outside.

"I am a member of the Atlantean Imperial Guard," Faira said. "I had the abilities required to become a shaman, a priestess; that is why I was selected for this mission. But I never could walk away from a fight."

Taking that as an invitation, Vance crossed the room, threading his way between the work benches littered with computers, microscopes, and chemistry equipment to come to a stop beside her. The oversized shirt Faira was wearing had a Dallas Cowboys logo on it, so Vance was inclined to attribute it to Aracely. Faira's dark hair had been brushed out into a gleaming sheet that nearly touched the floor in defiance of the snarled mess it would become by morning. Vance wondered if it behaved better in water. 

"Our task is to safeguard the royal family and, when necessary, to avenge our failures. We guard their peace and fight beside them in battle. That is our place. My place." Faira raised a hand, but her fingers stopped just shy of the window, tracing a plume of stars so dense Vance could hardly see the black between them. Reflected in Faira's inky eyes, the effect was very much like Gamora's uncanny cloak, of immensities contained within something that ought to have been commonplace.

"Did you know Namorita?" Faira looked young, but with Atlanteans that didn't always mean much. Nita had been the oldest of them by a long shot.

"I am servant to her mother. We sparred often when the princess returned home. My lady had a...restless disposition. I had never dreamed that it would take her so far. This place is very strange to me."

Somehow, they had never taken time to have this conversation. Things had always hung up on Faira's identity, the possibility that their friend could have lost herself under their very noses. The months when Nita had been kidnapped and brainwashed had been emotionally brutal for all of them, not just Rich. Vance hadn't been able to help thinking that that history would make memory loss worse for her, and he bet Robbie had felt the same way. 

Of course, if what Chris had told them was right, none of those things had happened to the Namorita they were looking for. She'd been plucked out of the time stream before Stamford, before changing, before...what? Before Vance had been released from prison; before he'd killed his father? Before she'd gotten together with Rich? Namorita was the closest thing Vance had to a sister, but he had no idea what to expect.

"Will you go back to Atlantis after we find her?" 

Hesitation. "I am not sure. If my lady wants to return home, I will escort her."

Vance shifted in place. "I know we haven't always gotten along very well, but you've earned a place on this team in your own right. It was never just because we thought you might be Namorita."

"Only a little bit?" Faira asked with a sidelong smile.

"Only a little bit," Vance admitted.

 

_Arakor_   
_The Shi'ar Galaxy_

The New Warriors caught up with the _Resolute Duty_ in orbit around what had at one time been an independent, fledgling colony world on the edges of the Shi'ar galaxy. Now, it was filling with refugees that flooded in from half a dozen pan-galactic catastrophes. Good to know it wasn't just Earth that was falling apart, Robbie thought. _Not._

Everyone was crowded into the control room to watch Vance, who looked a little nervous, bring them out of their final hyperspace jump. Excitement shivered through the air as everyone held their breath, eyes glued to the greyed-out nav display. The tension was unbearable. This was the last system on the sort-of-Novas' itinerary: if they weren't here, they had no idea where to look next. 

Vance bit his lip in concentration, Jake Waffles looking over his shoulder as he dropped them back into normal space. Although, what was normal for space? What Robbie noticed was the big holo-display up in front of the main controls flickering back to life in a bewildering an array of symbols and lines.

_Busy place._ Vance probably already knew how to decipher the beaded-spaghetti-gobbledegook. Robbie was pretty sure that if _he_ ever tried to drive a space-ship, he'd accidentally side-swipe someone's moon. But for Vance, as much as he tried to keep everything buttoned down, especially in front of the kiddies, outer space was pretty much Candyland and Robbie would bet his bouncing behind that Vance felt like King Kandy. _Kinky._

A chime sounded, and one of the symbols brightened. Vance zoomed in on it and an information bubble appeared. It was a ship.

" _Resolute Duty_ ," Robbie read. 

"Holy crap, we actually found it," said Kaine.

Chris slapped Vance enthusiastically on the back. "See? I told you."

"They are hailing us," Jake Waffles said.

Vance hit a button. A sober-faced, slightly lizardy green alien with two arms coming out of his left shoulder, one organic and one not, appeared, partially displacing the spaghetti-with-sprinkles map. Not Namorita. Not even Rob Rider. He was wearing a Nova Corps uniform, though.

"Incoming ship, this is the Nova Corps Starship _Resolute Duty_ , Centurion Zan Philo commanding. We have been requested by the settlers of Arakor to assist in directing local space traffic. Peaceful refugees and traders are welcome in this system. Please identify yourselves and state your objectives."

" _Resolute Duty_ , this is Justice, commanding the _New Wundagore III_ and the New Warriors. I think you may know some friends of ours, Namorita Prentiss and Robert Rider." 

Moment of truth. Robbie clenched and unclenched his fists, mouth dry, heart pounding in his throat.

"Justice?" A human face appeared beside Centurion Philo's. Brown hair, glasses; yeah, Rob Rider did look a little like his brother. "Oh my god. What are you doing out here?"

"We heard you were looking for your brother. And I think we brought someone who can help."

Rob Rider barely spared a glance for the rest of the team when they teleported over. He zeroed in on Sam before Vance had even finished saying hello, already coaxing him away from the group. Robbie wondered irreverently if he planned on returning the poor kid when he was done with him. 

Vance hadn't wanted to seem too much like an invading army, but it wouldn't have been fair to drag everyone all the way out here and not let them see the show. They'd left the Guardians of the Future back on Spartax with the Emperor of Eighties References, where Robbie assumed they were going to continue bickering about naming rights. Chris had decided to hang back for some reason, like he'd been doing ever since they'd blasted off; for whatever reason, Vance hadn't pressed him. Jake Waffles was staying behind because somebody had to be able to fly the ship. Angela, who seriously needed to install a sense of humour, didn't seem interested in anything except Gamora, which—Robbie could totally be on board with that.

It would take a better man than Vance to stand in front of Gamora, and Robbie wasn't _that_ crazy anymore. Peter Quill might remind Robbie a little too much of Tony Stark; but trees and furry little animals aside, it took some pretty impressive leadership to get a group that should have behaved like the Thunderbolts to behave more like the Avengers. Although Robbie did get the impression that they did more shooting people in the face. If they were lucky, the face.

"Welcome aboard," the Philo guy told them after Rob had evaporated.

"Thank you, Centurion Philo. I hope we'll be able to help each other," Vance said, at his most polite.

"Well, it looks like Rider's already a few steps ahead of you."

Rob was attaching a series of leads from a console to Sam's helmet. Vance's lips quirked upwards. 

"That's how Rich always talked about him. If anybody's going to find him, it'll be Rob."

"Where is Namorita?" Faira asked, one-track girl that she was.

_Yes, please, bring on the answers._

"Centurion Philo, this is Faira Sar Namora. She's been sent by Nita's family to check up on her," Vance was glossing smoothly.

"The Atlantean royal family," Faira corrected coolly. She looked even sharper than usual, having taken extra pains with her appearance. The sides of her head were freshly shaved, and her hair was braided tightly into a shining black whip. The tension coming off of her since they'd left Spartax was intense; if arm-boy didn't produce Nita soon, Faira was likely to walk straight through the bulkheads and empty vacuum until she found her.

"Of which Nita is a member, so if she's not actually dead, they'd be kind of interested to know that," Robbie added.

"And these are Speedball and Silhouette. Rich and Namorita were teammates of ours back on Earth," Vance introduced them. "Scarlet Spider, Sun Girl, Hummingbird, and Haechi have joined us more recently."

Scarlet Spider, Sun Girl, Hummingbird, and Haechi were all staring around the interior of the _Resolute Duty_ 's bridge with a mixture of suspicion, scepticism, nervousness, and wide-eyed interest. The ship had obviously been knocking around for a while, its bulkheads scarred and fixtures repaired with improvised parts. Despite all that, it looked well cared for. Everything gleamed like it had been polished, and Robbie didn't think he could see so much as a single speck of dust. Someone had a lot more patience than he did.

"And this is Gamora," and what was it with Rich and technicoloured ladies, anyway? "who fought alongside Rich during the Annihilation War and against Ultron's Phalanx invasion."

"You Earth people sure are a colourful bunch," Philo said.

"Cultural peculiarity," Robbie said lightly. 

"I am _not_ from Earth," Gamora apparently felt compelled to point out.

Faira was starting to look like she was in danger of summoning up that pole axe she carried around, and there really wasn't room for her to swing it in here. Vance cut her a quelling look and took over the pressure tactics.

" _Is_ Namorita around here somewhere?"

"Oh, yes," Philo said. "Nita's planetside right now. She and Fraktur are providing aid to one of the underwater settlements; they're the only ones who can without using the Nova force. Morrow's got night watch this meta-cycle, and the rest are down with the land settlers."

"You really can't access the Nova Force at all?" Robbie asked.

"Not since Rich went into the Cancerverse," Rob said without looking up from the data compiling on the screen in front of him. "How long have you been using this thing, kid?"

"Less with the kid," Sam told him, shifting in mild irritation.

"Less with the moving," Rob said automatically. "How long?"

"Uhhh, nine months, ish?" Sam hazarded. "My dad was a Nova. The Chitauri grabbed him last fall. When Gamora and Rocket gave his helmet to me, it did all the Nova stuff."

"Why is it black?" Philo asked. 

Huh. Robbie had never really wondered about that. 

"Supernova's helmet was black. Garthan Saal," Rob said grimly. "He was carrying around the entire Nova Force at the time; you might say it drove him a little batty."

"Wasn't your brother also carrying the entire Nova Force?" Philo asked, concerned.

Rob shrugged. "He had the Worldmind running interference for him for a long time; apparently that makes a difference."

"Ultracomforting."

"My brother was certified one hundred per cent mentally stable right before the War of Kings kicked up," Rob assured him.

"His helmet wasn't black either."

"Um," Sam said.

"Stop squirming," Rob chided him again.

"Well, it's just, I guess way back when a bunch of guys figured out how to access as much of the Nova Force as they wanted; that's how the helmets are different. My dad helped set up a sting on them, and instead of destroying the helmets, they used them for, like, a special squad."

"Hm." Rob looked interested. "Maybe that's why you still have access the Nova Force and we don't. I thought it meant Rich was on the other side of a dimensional barrier or something, but someone might have deliberately locked us out after all. Or just not released access from when Rich powered up for the boss fight. Here, take that off so I can have a closer look."

"What? No!" Sam clutched his helmet to his head protectively.

Rob rolled his eyes. "I'll give it back. What? Your clothes don't all disappear or anything, do they?"

"No. But I have a secret identity!" Sam complained.

"Nobody's going to recognise you out here," Rob pointed out. "I've known about my brother being a superhero for ages: I'm trustworthy; I promise." He held up his left hand and wiggled the stump of his little finger. "Pinkie-swear."

Robbie, Sil, and Vance all cringed. Sam boggled a little but pulled the helmet off. Rob's hands darted in to grasp it, guiding it off so the various wires he'd attached to it wouldn't tangle or pull loose.

As usual, Sam's uniform melted away. Instead of being naked, which as far as Robbie was concerned would have been a serious design flaw, Sam was left standing in jeans, a tee-shirt, and scuffed sneakers he only bothered to tie half the time. That had always seemed just plain reckless for a skateboarder.

Zan Philo stared at him. "And I thought Nova Prime was saddling me with children. You're practically an infant! Have they really been letting you roam around the universe unsupervised?"

Sam puffed up his narrow chest. "Hey, I'm an Avenger!"

"Is that supposed to mean anything to me?"

Rob raised his eyebrows. "Seriously? You?"

"I ran off an entire Chitauri invasion fleet single-handed, and I beat the Hulk in, like, the worst mood ever. Thor invited me himself." _So there,_ Sam's crossed arms seemed to say.

Weirdly, Sam always seemed older out of uniform. He didn't look so godawful skinny in street clothes, and his face was so much more serious than it must have been this time last year, often lending him an appearance of maturity that the helmet concealed.

"Huh. This is interesting." 

Rob stuck his face into the helmet, then pulled an inactive one from his belt. He clipped something to it and it sprang instantly into shape. Searching across the control panel, Rob finally found the control he wanted and pressed it to activate a light field. He pushed first one helmet then the other into it. They floated in place over the console, and data started appearing on a screen in front of Rob.

"Hey, careful, I just got that fixed," Sam told him nervously, hovering over his shoulder.

That got Rob's attention. "Did you repair this yourself?"

"No, I got the Hulk to do it."

"You mean break it," Rob corrected him.

Sam grimaced. "Well, that too."

"Smart Hulk; long story," Robbie explained.

"Geez, how long have I been gone?"

"Do your helmets work at all?" Robbie asked curiously. Both Philo and Rob were wearing the uniforms, but their helmets were collapsed and tucked into their belts.

Philo made a face. "We can juice them up if we want to, but without the Worldmind or gravimetrics they're of limited use, not so great on battery life. And I forget I can't fly anymore often enough anyway. You'd be surprised how fast you get used to it."

Further conversation was cut short by an message coming in over the com. Philo flicked a glance at Rob, confirming that he was totally immersed in his comparison of the helmets, and leaned over a little resignedly to flick the channel open. _So much for the chain of command._

A familiar voice filled the bridge. _"You boys reading us up there?"_

"This is the _Resolute Duty,_ reading you loud and clear," Philo responded.

_"Fraktur and I just broke the surface; you need us on the land, or are we headed back up?"_

"Come on up, Nita. We've got company."

_"What kind of company?"_ Namorita asked.

"Not the kind you need to punch out. Some old friends of yours have turned up."

_"See you topside, then."_ Namorita clicked off.

Faira, Robbie, Vance, and Sil exchanged a look, none of them quite willing to say it for fear of jinxing it. The rest of the team exchanged a look like they thought the Old New Warriors were wound a little tight.

Philo opened a channel down to the rest of the ex-Novas working on the planet's surface and called them in for the day. It would take them all a while to get back to the shuttle site and return to the ship. Ever practical, Vance took the opportunity to ask Philo where they should put _their_ ship, and they transmitted directions for a high parking orbit back to Waffles.

Aracely had been drifting around the bridge, peering interestedly into odd corners and at the different consoles. She floated up to examine the ceiling; maybe she was checking for dust.

Aracely giggled when Robbie thought that, but she didn't turn to look at him. Were his defences slipping? Instead, she floated down to hover behind Rob Rider, inspecting his head the same way she had the light fixtures.

Rob craned his neck to look at her, but she switched sides on him. "What are you doing?"

"Your brain is very fast," she told him.

"...Thank you?"

"Is she okay?" Philo asked.

_As long as she doesn't set anything on fire_ was probably not the sort of answer that would go over well. Either Aracely was okay or she had never been even a little bit okay and Robbie honestly could not say which.

"Hummingbird has a different way of looking at things," Vance managed diplomatically.

"Would you stop acting like a nutjob?" Kaine said. Kaine had apparently never heard of diplomacy.

"Something is thinking very, very fast," Aracely told him. "It's distracting."

"No, _you're_ distracting. Get away from there," Kaine told her.

Aracely heaved a pointed sigh but zipped back over to Kaine. "It was not him anyway."

"This team is a lot stranger than I remember," Rob said.

"Wait until you meet future-Vance and the dog-man," Robbie told him.

"Cool." 

"So, what have you been doing out here all this time?" Selah asked. She'd trailed Aracely over to where Rob was scrolling through the screens of information coming out of the helmets. "Looking for your brother?"

"Won't find him if we don't look, but it hasn't been easy. I haven't even been able to get the Worldmind up and running." Rob sounded frustrated. "In the meantime, the universe is a hot mess. Planets are being destroyed, civilisations are disintegrating. Somebody has to step up. We may not have superpowers anymore; but we still have some resources, and we're willing to help. The name of the Nova Corps still carries weight in the universe."

Robbie, Faira, Vance, and Sil went with Philo down to the ship's shuttle bay to greet the returning team. Six corpsmen came down the ramp, including a very large reptilian female and what seemed to be a flying helmet. One otherwise normal-looking chick had an abnormally large head. Surprisingly, there were also what looked like two humans.

"Is that an Australian accent?" Robbie asked.

Vance shrugged. "The corps was recruiting on Earth before they left."

Namorita was, of course, leading the pack, front and centre, the only one not wearing a Nova uniform. Her smile was tired but bright; her tone was brash. Pale skin, Chris had been right, but wearing a cut-off bodysuit like a surfer's that left her calves and forearms bare. It was like stepping back through time. 

"Okay, Philo, who are these old friends who—" Namorita caught sight of them and broke off. "Oh my god!"

She shot towards them like an arrow, launching herself through the air. Robbie felt an enormous grin spreading across his face as she landed in front of them.

"Oh my god, guys. What are—oof!"

Nita had hardly touched down before Robbie made contact, wrapping her in a hug so tight anyone who hadn't evolved to handle the water pressure several thousand feet deep would have been in danger of cracked ribs.

"Whoa! Take it easy there, toothpick," Nita said, patting his back a little uncertainly.

"You're alive. You're really alive," Robbie whispered, his voice cracking. God, he was crying and he didn't even care.

"Well, sure." Nita shifted a little uncomfortably in his death-grip. _Not funny._ He could hear the realisation beginning to dawn in her voice. "You guys really thought I was dead."

"You _were_ dead," Vance said. "Rich didn't tell you?"

"The way he acted, I guess I kind of suspected. But he didn't seem to really want to talk about it. Rob either."

"It was—ask me later if you want to know about it. I wouldn't blame you if you don't." 

Trying to protect Robbie again. Nita squeezed him around the shoulders. "Hey, ease up, toothpick. I'm not going anywhere."

Robbie let go only with reluctance. He grinned blearily at her. "You look great."

"You look like a wreck." Nita tousled his hair fondly. "And look at you, Super Tights, all grown up. And they let you out! That's so great."

"Of...prison, right." She hugged Vance, who managed to hold onto a bit more dignity than Robbie had, the rat. But even his eyes were a little misty. "You know, I go by Justice now."

"Whatever you say, Super Tights."

Same old Nita, all right.

"What, no hug for me?"

"Sil!" Nita did a double-take. "Sil, your legs!"

"You noticed," Sil said, grinning broadly as they embraced.

"And there's someone else here who's been looking for you. She's the reason we knew you were back."

Faira stepped forward, her head bowed, albeit stiffly, which was a first. Okay, but, seriously. They still looked _completely alike_. Robbie refused to be sorry for insisting on that. Except not only were they in fact different people, but they also seemed to know each other already. The kind of edged silence that was stretching between them definitely required some history.

"Your Highness."

"Faira? What are _you_ doing here?" Nita demanded. The coolness in her voice made Robbie blink.

Faira kept her eyes resolutely fixed on the floor somewhere behind Nita's knees. When she spoke, her tone was formal. What the hell? What was this, some kind of royalty thing? Robbie knew Namor was an arrogant tool, but Nita had always known where the line was between self-confidence and douchery.

"The king charged me to find you when our mystics sensed your return."

"Namor send _you_?"

"His Majesty believed my skills were most suited for—Highness?" Faira reached out to catch Nita as she wavered on her feet, her stiff expression almost cracking. Almost.

"It's nothing." She shook off Faira's support, but her face was still strained.

"What did you do to her?" demanded the dragon-lady. 

The Novas had caught up with Nita during their reunion. It was nice they were concerned, Robbie supposed, but he'd much prefer they back off.

"Nothing," Faira snapped.

"I'm fine," Nita insisted. "These are friends from back home. What are you guys doing out here? When the old stick told me some friends had stopped by, I thought it was the Guardians of the Galaxy."

"We came looking for you and Rob—and Rich," Vance explained. "We brought Kid Nova with us. He's with Rob in your lab; they took the helmets down there to give them a closer look."

"You found the little squirt, huh? Maybe Rob will finally be able to get some traction."

"That's the idea."

"So, you think he can really do it?" Sil asked. "You think Rich is really out there somewhere?"

"I think—" Nita gasped again.

This time, Vance reached out to steady her. Predictably, he also got slapped away. 

Centurion Philo had aborted a similar gesture, but a brief spark of amusement was drowned out by concern on his face. "You shouldn't have gone out today. Rider warned you—"

Nita switched her annoyed glare to him. "I'm not just going to sit around up here. I was fine all day in the water."

"Mostly," the dragon-lady said.

" _I was fine_ ," Namorita insisted. "I know all about over-oxygenation. You've probably got your O2 cranked up higher than Earth-normal on this barge, is all. I'll spend a few weeks underwater while Rob plays with his new toy and I'll be back to normal."

"What's this?" Vance asked.

"Namorita's been ignoring health problems," Philo said with a stern look at her. "Rider warned us that she had some kind of genetic crisis in her alternate timeline."

Nita returned his look in kind. "But the Inhuman doctors said I was fine, and they're the experts on genetic anomalies."

Vance frowned, starting to worry himself, now. "You did, though. The Atlantean doctors stabilised you somehow, but...I'm not sure Atlantis is really an option right now. The Inhumans are in New York; maybe they can help." 

They hadn't even though to ask Medusa whether the Inhumans had run into Nita out here. Robbie kicked himself. But how the hell were they supposed to guess Nita would pop up randomly like forty bajillion miles from Earth?

Nita's face had gone pale again. "Why? What happened to Atlantis?"

"We will rebuild," Faira said, her eyes glinting darkly with resolve.

"There was a war," Vance said. "There were a couple, actually, but the last one was bad."

"Who has done this to us?"

Nita actually grabbed Vance. Her pupils were dilated, her lips drawn back into a feral snarl. Vance tried to shake her off twice; the second time, Robbie was pretty sure he used his powers to pry her loose before she powdered his arm bones. 

"Nita, take it easy. It's going to be all right. We can take you back home if that's what you want."

"I am not going anywhere until we find Rich," Nita snarled, jabbing a finger in Vance's face. He held his hands up in surrender, or possibly self-defence.

Braid snapping behind her like a whip, Nita spun on her heel and headed for the door. She hadn't taken two steps before she collapsed.

They all reacted as one. Robbie got her first, projecting a cushion of kinetic bubbles to absorb her fall. It only took Vance a split-second longer to get a telekinetic grip on her and lift her limp form; Robbie allowed the bubbles to dissipate.

"Looks like there won't be time for Earth," Sil said.

"Fraktur, get the shuttle ready," Philo said, snapping instantly into action. "Best we can do is get her back in the water."

"No," Vance countermanded him. "As it turns out, we're perfectly equipped to handle a genetic transformation."

Robbie twisted his mouth wryly. "Yeah; we've got everything except a geneticist."

Vance switched on his com. "Justice to _Wundagore_. Mister Waffles, I need an immediate teleport to a genetics lab, preferably one with an immersive pod, pool, something like that. We found Namorita all right, but she's in trouble."

"I can get everybody else back," Sil said.

"Good." Vance nodded his thanks. "Then come down yourself, Mister Waffles. You're the closest thing to an expert we have on this technology."

"Teleporting yourself and the Atlanteans to Gamma Lab," Jake Waffles confirmed. 

"And me," Robbie cut in.

Teleport was abrupt, here and then there, nothing at all like the nightmarish dread, however brief, that always accompanied transit through the darkforce dimension. They were in a moderately big lab; Robbie hadn't ever really investigated them all, but there were a couple tanks along one wall. The others were lined with canisters and lab equipment, with some computers thrown in here and there for variety.

Jake Waffles appeared about ten seconds after they did. Waffles seemed to know a lot about a lot of things on _Wundagore_. Robbie didn't have the encyclopaedic knowledge Vance did on everything super-tights, but he'd had the vague impression that the Knights of Wundagore had been strictly muscle. The High Evolutionary hadn't really been a muscle-y kind of guy, on reflexion. It probably made sense for him to create his own lab-assistants instead of trying to compete for the same pool of unreliable poindexters that AIM pulled from. Combining servants and lab experiments made sense; Osborn had done it, too.

"Put her into the first tank," Jake Waffles was instructing Vance. 

"How good are you with this stuff?" Robbie asked anxiously.

Waffles waggled his paw-like hand back and forth. "That depends on what is wrong with your friend. My master kept very extensive records, however. This should be much more productive than Justice's cross-dimensional search for the Scarlet Spider."

Vance tipped Nita carefully into one of the tanks and held her steady while Jake Waffles started it filling with what smelled like salt water. Peering over his robed shoulder, Robbie saw anatomical diagrams and DNA models already flashing across the computer screen. Faira walked over to stand in front of the seething tank, reaching out to lay her palm against the thick glass. There was an expression of concern or intense thought on her face.

"Homo sapiens mermanus-Homo sapiens superior hybrid with genetic modification," Waffles muttered. He stared at the screen. "Now, that is _very_ odd. Do we have any additional information about her genetic history?"

"I know Atlantean hybrids are very oxygen-sensitive. High blood oxygen can make them emotionally erratic," Vance said.

"Why what's wrong?" Robbie asked. Suddenly, high school biology did not seem like enough. Sometimes it could be really frustrating being the muscle and not the brains.

"Namorita's DNA is an almost exact match for the High Evolutionary's records of Namora."

"She was Nita's mom, so that makes sense, doesn't it?" Robbie asked.

Jake Waffles glanced up to give him a pained look. "Not half her DNA; _all_ her DNA."

"Wait, what was the High Evolutionary doing with a sample of Namora's DNA?" Vance asked.

Waffles coughed, looking kind of sheepish for a dog-man. "My master was in the habit of collecting genetic oddities. He had most of the mutant race catalogued at one point."

Vance looked less than thrilled about that.

"More importantly, why is it the same as her mom's?" Robbie asked.

"The indications are that she is a clone," Waffles said apologetically. "You were unaware?"

"Jake Waffles is correct," Faira spoke up unexpectedly, still not looking away from Nita floating in the gene tank. "It was a great scandal at the time of her first transformation. Namora's hybrid blood meant she was unable to conceive. In her desperation for a child, she resorted to forbidden practices."

"That might explain these genetic anomalies. It almost looks as though someone was trying to effect repairs Crudely." Waffles sniffed in disapproval. 

Robbie bit his lip, the pain a little grounding jolt. "Can you fix it?" 

"It is—" Waffles huffed out a sharp exhalation, obviously frustrated. "Different segments of the spliced DNA are activating in different cells throughout her body. Done properly, it could have been very elegant. It is a mess, however. Water Snake, may I scan you _now_?"

"Why?"

"These spliced sequences have to be Homo sapiens mermanus, but they are unlike any of the other samples in the database. My master never managed to collect more than a scattering of samples from your people. Comparison with a full-blood Homo sapiens mermanus female would be very helpful."

"Then do what you must." 

Faira allowed Waffles to poke her with a gizmo he then stuck into a thingamajig, triggering another flood of data across his computer screen. These DNA things always looked like barcodes to Robbie.

"What happened the last time she transformed?"

"She came back with black eyes and blue skin. And fins and webbed fingers. And the next time it was acid and going invisible, but she went back to looking like she used to. And then she turned blue again," Robbie added.

Waffles shook his head. "I do not like the degree of instability that indicates."

"She also became extremely violent," Faira said. "This tank will not hold her. She would do better even in this foreign ocean. The sea is the sea."

"Absolutely not," Waffles voiced a horrified objection. "Exposing her to Earth's polluted oceans would be bad enough. Releasing her into an uncontrolled alien environment would be unconscionable. Has anyone even conducted a survey of this planet's oceans? Who knows what she's already encountered down there?"

"How would we even find her again?" Robbie gave vent to his own objections. "We can't let her come to lost, alone, and confused."

Vance drummed his fingers once on a lab bench. "I'll ask the Nova Corps to collect some samples and send them over—Faira, what are you doing?"

Faira had jumped to the top of Nita's tank and was perched there. She cast an impatient glance over her shoulder at them.

"If she cannot be moved, we must keep her where she is. I can control water: I can contain her."

"Aren't we going to talk about what happened back there?" he pressed.

"My duty is to ensure the wellbeing of my lady; what else do you need to know?"

With that, Faira jumped into the tank. It was full now, and the water barely rippled around her as she submerged to float alongside Nita. A sick fear prickled Robbie's nerves.

"Robbie..." Vance said.

"Go," Robbie told him. "I'll keep an eye on things here."

Vance nodded shortly and rushed out.


	10. Chapter 10

_The_ New Wundagore III  
_In orbit above Arakor_  
_Five days later_

Sam Alexander yawned and rubbed his eyes. The computer screen swam in and out of focus in front of him.

Sam hadn't even had a chance to meet Namorita before she got sick. The Nova Corps were almost as worried about her as the old New Warriors; even Rob Rider had dropped his examination of Sam's helmet when he'd heard about her collapse. 

Of course Sam was worried about her, and about Faira, too. He wasn't a _jerk_. It was just so frustrating. Here he finally had the perfect opportunity to find his dad: his helmet was all fixed up, he didn't have to worry about school or his mom; his friends even had a spaceship.

But everyone else had better leads than he did. They'd already found Namorita! What did Sam have to show for himself? Google alerts. 

It wasn't like Sam hadn't made _any_ progress. He was pretty sure the cluster of recent homecomings in Kree space wasn't his dad because they were all connected with some sort of trade fleet. There had been another string of new stories, escaped Chitauri slave gladiators returning home. The last one had even been sort of in this part of space.

But that had been weeks ago. There had been a few articles overlapping with the Kree arrivals, or at least Sam thought so. It was hard to tell when everybody used a different calendar. The Nova Corps had been helpful there: they were used to operating on such a far-flung scale that they'd had to figure out all those conversions ages ago.

Sam didn't know how to feel about the Nova Corps. When he'd first started out, he'd have given anything to have someone else out here with him, someone who knew what the hell they were doing. 

These guys looked at him and saw a kid, though. Maybe that would have been okay when Sam was a rookie; but even though he still didn't always feel like he knew what he was doing, he knew he could handle himself now. He'd faced down alien armadas and psycho alien assassin chicks and the Hulkest Hulk ever. The New Warriors might _call_ him kid, but at least they didn't treat him like—

 _Wait, what's the date on this?_ Sam scrolled to the top of the page he was on, then the bottom, then remembered to hit the key sequence that gave you a transmission's metadata. Yesterday.

"Yesterday!" Sam glanced around the control room, but no one else was up here. Since they were parked in geosynchronous orbit over the refugee colony, Vance figured Sam had learned enough about flying the ship to babysit the autopilot all by himself.

Sam had also learned how to work the personal teleporter. He set the bridge alarms to broadcast over the intercom, then beamed himself over to the _Resolute Duty_.

The default coordinates were set to the bridge, and Sam hadn't wanted to monkey with them. Robbie, Mark, and Selah were there talking with Centurion Philo when Sam materialised.

"We really appreciate your helping us out," the hard-bitten Philo was saying.

Despite Namorita's sudden illness, the Corps hadn't stopped its work down on Arakor. Sam and the rest of the New Warriors had been helping out, which was why Sam was so beat. It was really hard to resent the refugees for taking time away from Sam's search when they had all lost so much. Sam wasn't the only guy out there missing family, and at least _he_ knew there was a chance his dad was alive and was lucky enough to have the resources to go look. A lot of these people had lost their _worlds_ , not just their homes. 

"Yeah, well, even Haechi's magic Netflix account doesn't get service in another galaxy. We've got to do something to entertain ourselves. Hey, Sam. What's up?" Robbie greeted him

"Just grabbing my helmet," Sam said casually, waving at everybody as he slipped past them. 

He knew his way to the ship's tech lab by now. Rob Rider had been overextending himself as much as Sam had, looking for a way to his brother when he wasn't planetside just like Sam was looking for his dad, _and_ checking in on Namorita whenever he could. Jake Waffles seemed to more or less know what he was doing, but Faira and Vance were having to take it in turns to keep her from smashing her way out of the lab. With his helmet over here, Sam couldn't even spell them.

Hopefully, Rob Rider wasn't in the lab right now. Sam would tell him what he wanted the helmet back for if he had to, but with people still down on the planet's surface, it would take time to get everyone back up here. Sam just wanted to go quick and check to see if it really was his dad. If there was trouble, he'd call in backup. If there wasn't, he'd come back with the good news. Once Sam knew his dad was safe, they could be as slow as they liked getting to him. Well, almost. The important part was to make contact before the trail went cold again. 

He was in luck: no sign of Rob. Maybe he was writing that letter Sam had told him to send to his parents. Maybe Sam should write a letter to his mom. If he found dad today, he decided. His mom knew why he was out here: Sam had at least had the common courtesy to tell her he would be leaving the planet for a few months.

Grabbing his helmet out of the interface beam thing, Sam plopped it on his head. His uniform formed around him, embarrassingly snug, but at least he didn't have to fight to get the pants on. Sam had always wondered a bit about superhero wardrobe choices (not that he didn't totally appreciate some of them), but now he'd seen that even _alien_ superheroes wore the same stuff, he was more or less resigned.

Sam had to go back to the _Wundagore_ to download the coordinates into his helmet. No amateur mistakes this time. He was in and out again in five minutes, zipping out the nearest airlock and punching a stargate into the galactic night.

 

The airlock alarm woke Vance. He flailed out spastically in a moment of vertigo as he regained consciousness. His heart rate had gone from sixty to one-sixty in about half a second, and it took him several slowing beats to be sure that the alarm that had jolted him out of his doze hadn't been a dream.

"Warriors, sound off," Vance said into his com, then clicked off so as not to transmit the jaw-cracking yawn that followed. He'd drifted off at the kitchen table over a cup of coffee. It had gone cold. He downed it all at once anyway. "Did someone just go outside?"

 _"Faira and I still have Namorita secure down here,"_ Jake Waffles reported.

 _"Darkhawk, present and accounted for. As far as I know, Sil still has Hummingbird and Scarlet Spider down on the surface, along with Gamora and Angela,"_ Chris said.

 _"My group came up with the Corps a few minutes ago,"_ Robbie chimed in. _"We were about to call over for a teleport."_

That would be Mark and Selah. Vance ran down his mental roster and bit back a curse.

"Sam? Kid Nova, are you reading me?" Maybe he'd fallen asleep up in the control room; he'd been burning it at both ends.

 _"Sam teleported over a few minutes ago,"_ Robbie said. _"Reclaiming his helmet from Rich's kid brother's bucket fetish."_

Vance was already moving. "Get ready to teleport; I'm going to check the bridge now, but I'm pretty sure Sam just went off on his own."

As he'd feared, the control room was empty. Vance looked around and saw one of the auxiliary screens lit.

"Yeah, he's gone. Tell Philo we're going after him. I'm going to call in Sil and then bring you guys over."

_"Gotcha, Super Tights."_

Calling down to Sil only took a minute: she could grab everyone and bring the rest of the team up on her own. Vance double-checked his targeting and then hit the teleport button. 

"—ing with us or what?" Robbie swung his head from side to side to locate Vance so he could glare at him. "I hate it when that happens. Also, would it kill you to wait for me to say, _Beam me up, Scotty_ , just once? Once, that's all I ask."

"I'll keep it in mind. _Resolute Duty_ , do you read me?" Vance said into the ship com.

_"We read you, Justice. What's the situation?"_

"Sam's gone after his father on his own; we're going after him. No idea what the situation is on that end, but I'm sending you the coordinates just in case."

 _"Negative. This is a corps matter: we're going with you,"_ Philo said. _"I was lost for thirty-five years; I'll be damned if I leave another poor bastard in the lurch."_

"Glad to have you with us: hopefully we're making a mountain out of a molehill."

_"Sure, we can hope that."_

Sil and the rest of the New Warriors came boiling out of the shadows at the back of the room. Vance scanned the mob. "Gamora and Angela?"

"Coming up on their own. Darkforce travel isn't for everyone, apparently," Sil said. "It's really distracting having Angela try to kill the entire dimension every time we go through."

"We'll leave as soon as they get in." 

Vance occupied himself plotting their course through hyperspace. It couldn't have been more than ten minutes since Sam had left; hyperspace versus stargate: which was faster? Why had Vance never clocked that before now?

Why had Sam not told them? They had maybe gotten a little distracted helping the people here, but Vance had thought Sam understood that. They hadn't abandoned any of their other goals just because they'd found Namorita and Rob. 

_Kids do stupid things sometimes._ Sam was young, impulsive. Vance had been fighting down impulses for years, forcing them to become strategies and mature motivation before he acted. Things were different for Sam. 

Vance forced himself to be careful taking them out: Jake Waffles wasn't here to keep him from making any mistakes. Even if Sam was in trouble, the team wouldn't be any good to him smeared across tens systems in a radioactive cloud.

Unexpectedly, the com chimed.

"You've got mail?" Robbie said.

"It's Sam. Nova, are you okay?" Vance asked, opening the channel. They'd been trying to make a connexion with Sam since before they left Arakor, but he'd been ignoring them.

"I found him, Vance! Come in at my coordinates. It's a Chitauri ship, but it's not running a Chitauri beacon, and the guy they dropped off at the last system said they were heading this way. I'm going call them now and make sure dad's okay."

"But Sam, what if—" The line went dead. "—it _is_ a Chitauri ship?"

 

 _The stolen Chitauri ship_ Odysseus  
_Interstellar Space_

"Incoming hail," said Goronto the Mace.

Jesse frowned over RrRRrR the Fang's shoulder at the local-space nav display. "From what?"

"From that, I think." RrRRrR extended one claw from between his fingers to point at an erratically moving speck. 

It actually took Jesse a minute to realise what that meant. "Put it through," he said hoarsely. "Put it through now!"

"Do you want me to put a target lock on it?" RrRRrR asked.

"Absolutely not. Mace Face," Jesse prompted Goronto.

"You wanna talk to flarkdust, go ahead." Goronto activated the com with a heavy hand.

"This is former Nova Centurion Jesse Alexander commanding the free ship _Odysseus_ ," Jesse said, then waited, swallowing drily.

_"Dad? Dad!"_

Jesse closed his eyes and let his head fall back, his heart suddenly feeling ten Gs lighter. _God. Thank you god._ Jack Flag clapped him on the shoulder.

Sam cleared his throat on the other end of the line. _"Uh, I mean this is current Nova Sam Alexander. Permission to come aboard?"_

"Permission granted," Jesse said, pitching his voice low to get around the catch in his throat.

Ywaii the Mangler shook his head. "Alexander, you are the luckiest son of a schlaag—"

"Ooh, look out, runt!" Goronto exclaimed from the com station. 

"What? What it is?" Jesse swung around to look at the scanner display again.

"More of these tiny krutackers," RrRRrR said. "You sure you're not related to these, too?"

"Hell no; disintegrate the motherflarkers, they're shooting at my kid. Just be sure who you're aiming at," Jesse warned him.

"No problem; energy signature's completely different."

_"Dad, get out of here! They're after me, not you. Head for Spartax or Arakor; I'll catch up with you."_

"Son, this is a state of the art Chitauri warship. We're not going anywhere."

RrRRrR yowled a battle cry from deep in his throat. Hraak echoed his enthusiasm from one of the weapons batteries. "A fight at last!"

Good idea, especially now the hostiles were targeting them, too. Well, at least they were drawing fire away from Sam. 

Amid a string of hits—Jesse had always hated fighting in larger craft; they were too das't easy to hit—Jesse staggered to a weapons station of his own and waited for a shot. RrRRrR had painted four hostiles targeting Sam. But as he watched, he saw that three of them were also going after the fourth.

"What the hell...?"

"You seeing what I'm seeing?" Jack asked from the battery next to his.

"I'm seeing flarkers trying to kill my boy and I'm gonna scrag them," Jesse said firmly. 

"Whoa!"

Something huge appeared on the screen. Two of them, enormous ships. Jesse gritted his teeth and kept firing. _No, no, not now. So close..._

"Ho-ly..." Jack whistled.

"Get ready for a lot more scragging, Alexander," Hraak told him with vicious delight.

_"Attention Chitauri ship."_

Jesse darted a questioning look at Goronto, who shrugged. "You always want to talk to people."

 _"This is the Nova patrol cruiser_ Resolute Duty _in company with the Earth ship_ New Wundagore III _,"_ the transmission continued. _"If you do not wish to be blown to atoms, please cease firing at us."_

"This is Nova—are we transmitting?"

"Why not?" Goronto muttered.

"This is former Centurion 25539-45, Jesse Alexander. If you want to blow something to atoms, try those schlaags who're trying to kill my son."

_"Ultraclear, Centurion Alexander. That is our intention."_

"Didn't think there was a Nova Corps anymore," Hraak said. 

"Could be a trap," RrRRrR agreed.

Jesse clutched at the console in front of him in lieu of his head as the ship shook and equipment blew. "Are _they_ shooting at us?"

"No," Goronto said helpfully.

"Then flarking focus on the ones who are," Jesse grated. God, these, idiots sometimes. He spat out a mouthful of the Chitauri's idea of fire-suppressant; it was typically foul and gross.

More individual combatants were entering the field now. They weren't registering as Novas, but they were better able to match the assailants' manoeuvrability one-on-one, although all three ships kept firing. 

There, a fifth hostile with the same energy signature as the first four was moving to trap Sam up against one of its companions. Jesse let loose on it with everything he had until Sam got in the way of his shot.

 _"No, dad, he's a friend!"_ Sam shouted. 

Distracted, Sam let the other hostile catch up with him. Jesse watched helplessly as the two dots met and then simply vanished.

"Flark!" Jesse slammed his fist down on the now-slimy console.

"No time for that," Jack told him grimly.

With the disappearance of Sam, the hostiles zeroed in on the _Odysseus_. The newcomers, who had been converging on Sam to back him up, took a minute to get turned around; and in that time three of the remaining hostile signatures tripled in size.

Ywaii bit off something unpronounceable that the translators didn't even attempt to interpret. That power surge had come out of nowhere.

The attackers seemed to know exactly where to aim to hit their most vulnerable spots, which Jesse supposed was what they got for trading the ship specs for supplies across a galaxy and a half. They were cutting right through the hull and shields, as opposed to just jolting everyone's thinking organs and setting things on fire. Jesse cursed again the vulnerability of spaceships.

The barrage only lasted for a few seconds. The corps or its allies closed on the hostiles, and they broke and disappeared the way their companion had with Sam.

But the damage had already been done. Alarms were sounding everywhere and flashing on every operational panel. State of the art Chitauri design was apparently still shit. _Pieces_ were falling off the das't thing. That last strike had obviously been a tactic to distract everyone by making them stop to rescue Jesse's crew, or at least blind everyone's sensors with the explosion.

 _"I don't know what the flark's going on up there, but the reactor's shot straight through. I'm getting the hell out of here before it blows,"_ Headhunter Xaew called up from the engine room, the line crackling with interference.

"Everyone to the escape pods!" Jesse ordered, shouting down his rage and grief. He still had responsibilities.

"This is a Chitauri ship," Ywaii reminded him. "I don't think there are any escape pods."

"Tell Xaew to get back in there and dump the core, buy us some time, then," Jesse snapped.

 _"_ Odysseus _, what's your status?"_ the _Resolute Duty_ asked.

There went the reactor, a spark falling away below them that blossomed suddenly into a brief, fiery bloom. Jesse caught himself on Goronto's bulk as the ship lurched in the shock wave. "Pretty much flarked. Hull breaches end to end and top to bottom; that was our reactor that just blew off our keel. We're falling apart over here."

_"Copy. We will extract as soon as possible."_

"Sooner!" Jesse suggested.

Around them, the ship was shivering almost constantly now, whole sections of the schematic going dark as they tore away. The amount of damage they had taken was unbelievable, metre-wide holes punched three quarters of the way through the ship, bisecting crucial supports and intersecting one of the auxiliary generators. Half backup power was not going to keep the emergency force fields up for much longer. In fact, they were already starting to fail, letting cold vacuum suck out anyone and anything that wasn't safe between sealed bulkheads. Almost none of the bulkheads were sealing. Jesse was actually surprised that they still had any atmosphere.

"It has been an honour to fight at your sides, my brothers," Jesse told them. 

Hraak trilled threateningly.

"And it was an honour fighting you," he allowed, smiling crookedly. "Nova, you find my son," he said over the com to the _Resolute Duty_ , bracing himself as the last of the force field generators shorted out. If the pressure seals held, someone might even save them before the auxiliary power ran down completely and they suffocated or froze to death in the cold and dark. 

"What the hell's holding this ship together?" RrRRrR asked, staring in confusion at the display, still sort of illuminated.

 _"I am,"_ a strained voice ground out over the com. _"Waffles, you want to get working on that teleport?"_

"Son of a schma'ag, he's containing the entire vessel," Goronto swore. 

Jesse clenched his fists, leaning on the console, willing everything to keep going for just a little longer, burning with his helplessness. If they had a transmat on one of those ships, if they held together long enough to get everyone off...

He heard a woman's voice. "Come with me," she said, dragging Jack Flag over to stand with the rest of them. 

Before Jesse had a chance to ask where she'd come from or what was going on, a cold darkness enveloped him like the blackest, most distant reaches of space. He exhaled reflexively, but there was still pressure: what he inhaled was air, bitingly cold an incredibly unsettling, but definitely air. 

Jesse came back to the light gasping and blinking. He was in a cargo bay, brightly lit and sterile-looking. Well, except for the dozen or so rag-tag escaped gladiators, now looking grungier than ever. 

As Jesse watched, a few more materialised via what looked like normal transmat. He turned in place, searching for the mysterious woman.

"Where are we?"

"I think it's officially _New Wundagore_ or something like that, but we're the New Warriors."

Jesse's head snapped around. It was the woman from the ship. She was wearing a hooded superhero suit that, unusually, didn't cover her face. Her skin was a warm brown, but her eyes were strikingly Asian. Their whites were black, the irises white and seemingly without pupils. The costume was black streaked on grey plunging down into black—maybe she was a super-villain, actually. No, weren't the New Warriors those idiot kids who blew up that town? All Earth-heroes were idiots, in Jesse's opinion.

"Are you Jesse Alexander? Come with me."

She led off out of the bay; Jesse hurried to keep up. He delivered some reassuring slaps to his guys on the way.

"Sam. The Nova," Jesse pressed her. "You have to go after him."

"I'm sure they're up there right now trying to figure out where's he's gone. Can you tell me what happened? We're still playing catch-up here."

"That ship shot me, that's what happened." The speaker was in bird-themed battle armour, stepping out of a personnel lock. He was supporting another colourful Earthman with blood dripping down his unprotected face from his nose. "I was almost with Sam, and they shot at me!"

"I shot something with the same energy signature as the shuggers who were after my son," Jesse said hotly.

"Then you're the one who handed him to them!"

The human man subtly shifted his posture from leaning on the armoured punk to clenching a restraining hand on his shoulder, interposing himself between them. "Calm down. These are your guys: go up to the bridge, see if you can track them. Make sure everyone's back aboard."

No response from the punk, but he shook the hand off his shoulder and stomped away. The human wiped the blood away from his mouth with the back of his glove. He held the other one out to shake.

"Jesse Alexander? I'm Justice. It's good to finally meet you."

Justice was a brown-eyed, brown-haired super-dweeb wearing a blue and white uniform with a gold star on his chest; it didn't _quite_ manage to bite Captain America's getup, and at least Captain America had never worn something so ridiculously showy as a cape. 

Jesse ignored his hand and stalked after the armoured punk. It was someone else's turn to scramble to catch up with him.

"Okay, will you at least tell me what happened before we got here? Where did the Raptors come from?" Justice asked, irritation colouring his voice.

"Sam showed up alone. We'd barely made contact when four hostiles came in after him. What the hell did you people get him into?" Jesse growled, trying not to let the fact that he had to wait for Justice's cues on where to turn because he didn't know where he was going undermine his aggression.

"Sam's part of my team. Believe it or not, you're not the only one who's gotten into trouble out here. We needed to look for our friends and Sam needed to look for you, so we all came out together. We were working on another lead when Sam broke off without telling any of us."

"So you left him on his own, is what you're telling me," Jesse said. "You ignored him because he's just a kid and _your_ problems are more important. Well, if you ignore him now, then I am going to break _my foot_ off in your super-ass. As of right now, this is your number one priority."

Justice rounded on him, cape flaring dramatically. Jesse stopped short, clenching his fists and rolling automatically onto the balls of his feet, ready for a fight.

"Fine," Justice said. "Then let me get to work."

And then he just turned on his heel and walked away. Jesse stared after him, feeling oddly off-balance.

"Wow. Just about everybody I know these days would have punched me in the face for that," he told his mysterious woman.

" _I_ might punch you in the face for that," she said, "But it's not his style. Also, you might consider cutting him a little slack, since he's the reason you're not sucking vacuum right now."

" _That_ geek?" Jesse asked incredulously.

 

"So those were your Raptors," Vance said to Chris when he caught up to him in the control room. Most of the team had reassembled there already. "Talk to me. Why would they grab Sam?"

"It could be anything. The Datasong lets the Raptors practically read the future. They could have grabbed him because of something they think he'll do twenty years from now. Plus he's the last link to the Nova Force and our only chance at tracking down Rich."

"You think they want the Nova Force for themselves?" Gamora asked.

Vance nodded slowly. "It's a possibility. But no power source means the corps stays dead, leaving the universe that much more vulnerable and unstable. Easy pickings."

"Just Rich by himself is a substantial threat," Chris said. "You didn't really get the chance to see him in action recently."

Vance rubbed his face, grimacing at the tacky feeling of drying blood on his skin. His head still felt like it was in a vice. "That's all really beside the point. You told me you could track them."

"I'm still unclear on who 'they' are, precisely," Selah said.

"The Fraternity of Raptors is a secret society trying to manipulate intergalactic events on a massive scale," Vance told her shortly. "We can talk about it later. Chris, can you track them?"

"Maybe. I'd have to go outside, see if I can catch a scent."

"Then do it."

Chris bristled in his armour. He jabbed a finger at Vance. "I will. But maybe _you_ ought to calm down."

Vance let him go. Everyone was staring at him, and he had to resist the urge to snap at them, too. Nearly everyone was up here: Gamora and Angela had made it back aboard; Robbie had gone down to replace Jake Waffles watching over Faira and Nita in the lab. Sil was presumably still bringing Sam's distraught father up, although thankfully not as quickly as she could.

"Hummingbird and Scarlet Spider?" 

"She said something about keeping a lid on the crew of Sam's dad's ship. Scarlet went down with her," Selah told him a little tartly. Vance knew her well enough by now to know this wasn't over.

He'd wanted to ask Aracely if she'd gotten a read on any of the Raptors; instead, he called over to the _Resolute Duty_ in hopes that Rob might be able to trace _Sam's_ helmet. Evidently not. The black helmets had apparently been used for covert operations and so made deliberately hard to track. They'd need another black helmet, because apparently the only other solution was for Rob to have physically replicated a particular circuit; and even then, without access to the Nova Force, it would have been practically worthless.

Vance took himself off the bridge before he alienated the _entire_ team. He stopped by the lab where Nita's genetic structure was slowly ripping itself apart, because he didn't feel enough like a useless failure, on his way down to deal with the crew of escaped slave gladiators they'd just picked up. It was likely that would go better with Jesse Alexander backing him up, but that was presuming they didn't break down into a counter-productive shouting match. Let Jesse focus on Sam: he wasn't going to be able to really pay attention to anything else. Vance could pick up his slack well enough with Aracely and Kaine with him.

"Everything okay down here?" he asked Robbie.

"We got a little jolted, but mostly it's been the same scintillating staring at two ladies in a jar," Robbie reassured him. 

"Thanks for keeping an eye on things down here," Vance said, forcing his unproductive emotions down and trying to remember how to behave like a responsible adult.

Robbie shrugged. "Faira says she was violent last time this happened; I figured someone ought to be around to sound the alarm in case she takes out Faira and sneaks up on Waffles while he's preoccupied. Plus I'm the one whose face she can't break."

When Vance made it down to the unused cargo bay where Jake Waffles had deposited their new guests, he was relieved to find everyone in one piece and reasonably good humour. Aracely had influenced large groups of people before, but evidently it hadn't become necessary here. She was sunny, cute, and tiny, and explaining how they had all been rescued by a ship with bathing facilities. The biggest danger seemed to be from someone deciding he didn't like Kaine's attitude.

"Kaine," Vance said. It was all he needed to say. Abruptly, Vance was conscious that he had had more reasons for coming down here than simply to make sure their new guests weren't ripping the cargo bay apart. Not that they particularly needed this cargo bay intact...

Kaine trailed him to the far side of the bay, out of earshot but not line of sight. He looked at Vance expectantly, but Vance discovered that he had no idea what to say. 

"Vance?" Kaine reached out from his position perched at head-height on the wall and rubbed his gloved thumb over Vance's upper lip. He still hadn't taken the time to wash the blood off.

Vance pressed Kaine's palm to his mouth, both seizing on the contact and bottling up the words that wanted to spill out. Hell, Vance wasn't even sure what they were. The sick feeling in his gorge wanted to hear Kaine's ruthlessly honest practicality tell him that he'd done everything he could, that he'd been balancing all his priorities and Sam should have known he could bring his news to the team and they'd drop everything to help him and his father.

Had Vance really, though? Had he been letting Sam take lead on the search for his father or just too busy to take an interest? Did Sam feel like the restoration of his family was taking a back seat? Stupid. Vance had been too wrapped up in his grand adventure to pay attention to his team. If he'd been using half his brain he could have predicted that Sam would zoom off as soon as he got anything like a positive location for his dad, it was _his dad_. Vance had known these were kids and rookies he was responsible for, young, undisciplined. He'd told himself he was going to keep them safe while he trained them: that was the whole point. And Sam was already more used to working on his own, not to mention that all adults were at least half enemy to any teenager.

Vance inhaled around Kaine's hand. Kaine, _Kaine_. What would he think if Vance opened up on him with this torrent of insecurity? He didn't have the energy for another argument right now, and with Kaine it was hard to tell what you were going to get sometimes.

Kaine closed and opened strangely, and Vance didn't want to risk scaring him away when they'd come so far together. He didn't need formal declarations to know that Kaine's feelings for him ran deep. But words scared him for some reason; they made things too real. Vance could see that, although he couldn't quite see why, and so he'd been reluctant to push. 

"Vance?" Kaine sounded worried, although he tried to mask it with humour. "I'm totally on board with your space-kink, but this really isn't the time."

Vance took Kaine's hand in both of his and moved it from his lips to his heart, not quite ready to let go. "Sorry. I need to talk with you, though, as soon as we get a chance."

He released Kaine's hand. Talking scared him? Tough; he'd get over it. Vance had never known fear to master Kaine. If Kaine was still learning about relationships, well, he could learn this next. Vance needed this, the kind of support and confidant he hadn't really had since Angel. And for his part, he'd better be aware that Kaine was going to have a bit of a learning curve.

Kaine's hand lingered on his chest. "Yeah, okay. Just if you could try acting slightly more normal because you're freaking me out a bit. And wash your face: you look like the Avengers Walking Dead special."

"Deal." Vance smiled at him tiredly. "So, you think you and Aracely can get these guys settled in the barracks on your own, or do you want me to send help? I can spare you Selah and Mark."

"Not Gamora and the feisty redhead?"

"Too likely to seem like a challenge, don't you think? Besides, I might need them. With any luck, Sam's still relatively close and we'll be going back out after him again soon."

"What if I want to see these guys get their skulls caved in?" Kaine complained, only half-seriously.

Vance shook his head, amused despite himself. "Tell you what, if they get to be too much for you, I'll send you whatever you need. But I somehow think that between the showers, barracks, and mess they'll be too preoccupied to cause much trouble for a while."

 _"Justice?"_ It was Jake Waffles over his personal com. 

"I'm here," he said, waving Kaine off. Kaine responded by smacking his ass before leaping back towards Aracely and her captivated audience. "What's the word?"

 _"Darkhawk has a report for you."_

"Patch him through; I'm on my way up."

There was a brief pause and a click on the line, and then he heard Chris's voice in his ear. Vance strode purposefully out of the bay but stopped after a few turns to lean against the wall. He needed to sit down. Or take a nap; it took a considerable amount of effort to restrain Namorita's unconscious outbursts, and he'd need to relieve Faira again eventually. Jake Waffles couldn't apply the therapies he was trying to use to stabilise Nita's condition while Faira was in the tank with her, but Faira dehydrated too much using her powers for long periods in the air.

_"Vance?"_

"Darkhawk. Tell me you have good news."

_"Well, I'm pretty sure I can follow them. There's only one problem."_

Vance let his eyes fall shut and his head thump back onto the wall. "What?"

_"There are two trails. The Raptors went someplace different than Sam."_

"I thought you said one of the Raptors took Sam." 

Vance pushed off from the wall and started walking again, trying to remember where the nearest running water was. Even pared down to a spaceship instead of an entire mountain complex, Wundagore was stupidly big.

_"The weird one grabbed Sam. She scanned as a Raptor, but she looked different."_

"She?" Vance asked.

 _"Yeah, well, first off she was a woman,"_ Chris said. _"And I could see her face; she was wearing a blue suit with light beams coming out of it instead of swapping with an android like I do."_

"Well, you said yourself that you didn't know everything about this Fraternity. As long as you can track her, that will have to be good enough," Vance decided.

 _"Ladyhawk's not the one we should be going after,"_ Chris disagreed. _"Kid Nova has a decent shot of at least getting away from some half-Raptor flunky. Handling three will take all of us. Did you see what they did to that Chitauri warship? We've got to catch up with them and deal with them before they scatter. This is our chance to take them down!"_

Vance shook his head, even though Chris couldn't see him. "We rescue Sam; that's not even a question. Your personal vendetta is going to have to take a back seat."

 _"I am not overreacting to this! Four Raptors on the loose is a disaster. If we have a chance at three of them at once, we need to take it,"_ Chris insisted.

"Sam is fifteen years old! We let him fly off on his own right into an ambush, and we are going to return him safely to his father. I need you with me on this," Vance added, softening his tone. "You're the only one who can tell us where they've taken him. Please, Chris."

 _"Fuck. Fine. But don't be surprised when this comes back to bite us in the ass,"_ Chris warned him.

"Oh, I won't be," Vance sighed under his breath.

He finally found a bathroom and pulled his cowl down to splash some water on his face. At least his nose had stopped bleeding; for a minute out there, Vance had thought he was going to give himself an aneurism. 

Back on the bridge, Vance informed Jesse Alexander that they were taking care of his crew and already had a scout out picking up Sam's trail. He called over to the _Resolute Duty_ to fill the corps in on the latest developments next. Rob Rider's face was stoic, but Vance knew he was thinking he'd just lost his best chance at finding his brother.

Vance collapsed quietly into the command chair in the centre of the bridge while Jesse and Philo discussed the current, less than ideal status of the Nova Corps. Mark popped up out of nowhere to offer Vance a mug of coffee, god bless him. Instead of crying in gratitude, Vance sucked it down quietly while they waited for Chris to return.

When he finally did, the news was not what they'd hoped. Wherever Sam was being taken, it wasn't nearby. It was going to be another long chase, although at least there was the implication that Sam was still alive.

Jake Waffles could follow Chris through hyperspace probably better than Vance—was Gamora a pilot? it seemed like most spacers picked up the basics, at least—so he let himself be chivvied off the bridge and meandered his bleary way back towards his room. God, he was tired.

"Uh, are you okay?"

Vance pried his eyelids open. He'd fallen asleep propped against the jamb of one of the emergency bulkheads, right in the middle of the corridor.

The person who had awakened him from his impromptu nap wasn't a member of his team; but the red, white, and blue-streaked hair was immediately recognisable. Vance frowned in confusion.

"Jack Flag? What are you doing here?"

"Name recognition: I guess I really am moving up in the world," Jack said. "I hooked up with Jesse Alexander's crew a few stops back."

Vance rubbed his face, trying to reason out how Jack Flag had gone from being locked in Tony Stark's Negative Zone prison in a wheelchair to running around with a ship full of escaped slave gladiators. Ugh. Had he been drooling? _Way to go, Vance._

"He and the Mangler volunteered to check on the kid's dad to keep the natives from getting restless."

"Dammit, Kaine!" Vance clutched at both the wall and his heart.

Kaine's mask, of course, was impassive; but he was absolutely laughing under it. He was stuck sideways to the other wall. Vance got the feeling that he'd been watching for a little while. He was so tired that he had not only missed Kaine, he hadn't noticed the seven-foot, four-armed, pink alien either.

"I was going to show these guys up to the control room, but are you sure you don't need me to remind you where your room is?" Kaine asked, only half-jokingly.

Vance managed to set himself fully upright once more. "Not now, dear," he said mildly and only semi-coherently.

Jack's eyebrows shot up, but he didn't comment. Vance glanced at the Mangler, but decided that trying to read a face with four eyes would only result in his having to brace himself on the bulkheads again. His dignity had suffered enough as it was.

"I'll be back to make sure you haven't passed out facedown in the hall somewhere," Kaine told him as he flipped with an unnecessary flourish down to the floor and prodded his charges forward. When he passed Vance, he bumped his shoulder; but instead of knocking him off balance, it steadied him.


	11. Chapter 11

_The Necropolis_  
_Wakanda, Earth_

The Necropolis was, predictably, a dreary sort of place. As if the name didn't give it away, what else would one expect from someone like T'Challa?

Namor hefted the device, sizing up the object of this exercise in infiltration. Normally, he did not have much patience for subtlety. There were far more satisfying ways to best an enemy than counting coup, but that was not his purpose today. No, irking the Wakandans was merely a side benefit. This was about family.

He had to cut carefully: he didn't want the bitch with the stick. But, obnoxious as they could be, T'Challa and Stark could at least produce items of use when they put their heads together. Now, if only any of it were secure...

Take what he was doing now, for instance. Namor had waltzed in and was in the process of freeing Thanos from the heart of T'Challa's very stronghold. He'd barely had to punch a single guard in the nose.

Thanos' eyes were fixed on him, the only part of him he could apparently move. They didn't so much as flicker, no matter how close the cuts came.

The amber encasing the mad Titan thinned like a block of marble being chipped away at by a sculptor or a block of ice melting. The anger in his eyes burned hotter, flaring into incandescent rage when when Namor paused in his progress.

Namor did not flinch either. He laid a finger over his lips and waited for the infinitesimal shift in Thanos' expression to signify his understanding before continuing.

Freeing Thanos took so long, Namor was starting to wonder if T'Challa actually wanted him out and about. A ploy to smear Namor's name perhaps? But no, T'Challa was far too nobly righteous to loose this terror on the battered universe for such petty reasons.

"This will get you off of Earth. Take it and go," Namor said, handing Thanos the other device he had appropriated.

Thanos cocked his head in inquiry, or maybe just to stretch his neck. "Why?"

"My reasons are good enough for me: let that be sufficient for you."

"Do not think I will hold myself indebted to you." 

What an arrogant bastard. Namor curled his lip derisively.

"I'm not asking you to leave: I'm telling you. Your weak-minded whelp has fled the planet. It's nothing to me if you want to waste eternity attempting to reclaim what you gave him."

Thanos took one ponderous step forward and snatched the teleporter from Namor's hand. "You are right. It is of no concern to you."

Namor smirked at him, unmoved. The priests and mystics had told him what must be, and he believed them just as he had when they had told him of his dear cousin's return. He saw no reason to tell Thanos any of this. Namor was not a patient man; he did not like having to wait for Namora's servant to bring Namorita home, nor to discover what necessitated Thanos' renewed participation in events. Liberating Thanos was at least an action he could take.

Thanos' return sneer seemed to linger as the rest of him vanished. Odious. Namor checked the teletrace. Thanos would deactivate it or abandon the device soon enough, but all Namor needed was to confirm that he had gone from this world. That done, it was time for Namor to take his own leave, and good riddance.

 

_The_ New Wundagore III  
_Interstellar Space_

Vance was actually in his bed the next time he woke up, and he was pretty sure he'd made it there on his own. Not as certain about how he'd ended up naked and under the sheets: he didn't usually sleep in the nude. Maybe Kaine had followed up on his threat to check on him and done him the kindness of peeling off his costume. It was crumpled in a heap on the floor, which was _also_ not how Vance usually treated his things; but he _had_ been black-out tired.

Vance ate some painkillers and hopped in the shower. He scratched at his chin when he got out, contemplating shaving. He finally decided that he might as well, because who knew when he'd have the chance again? With any luck, they'd be going in hot to Sam's rescue any minute now.

_Better get dressed, then._ Vance pulled on his spare costume; his brain had recovered enough that it didn't object to using a little telekinesis to ease into it. He hung the other one up, examining it and deciding it was still basically presentable enough if he needed it.

Kaine gave no hint that he'd so much as seen Vance since surprising him passed out in the corridor when Vance ran into him in the kitchen, but Kaine had kind of a way of pretending that if they didn't talk while something was happening, he could act later like it never had. 

At least he wasn't broadcasting to everyone how out of it Vance had been. Aracely and Selah were there too, eating breakfast, so he let it slide. Again. It was like there was a glass wall sliding between them: Kaine was still _right there_ , but whenever Vance wanted to talk to him, something always seemed to get in the way. But was that Kaine or was that him? Or the life they'd both chosen?

Vance settled for a quick peck on the lips that Kaine turned into something more. He wondered if Kaine felt the wall, too.

Selah watched them with pursed lips and a speculative expression. Aracely kicked her under the table.

"Selah!" she gasped reprovingly.

"Ow! Damn, girl," Selah complained.

Vance felt a hot flush spread instantly up the back of his neck and over his face, more embarrassed than if someone had made a more ribald comment. Kaine noted his change in complexion with amusement dancing in his eyes. A lifetime of embarrassment would be a small price to pay to make Kaine look like that all the time.

"Asshole," Vance grumbled fondly. Reluctantly, he pulled away. "I'm going down to spell Faira, if anyone needs me." He didn't ask if there was any news on Sam; someone would have woken him up if there had been.

Robbie was still there when Vance came down. He was asleep sitting up against the gene tank where Faira was holding Nita. In that position, any violent altercation would wake him and probably trigger his kinetic field. 

Vance was a lot less worried about Robbie than he had been, but he was still worried. As ambivalent as Vance had been about reforming the New Warriors in the beginning, he could see how important it was for Robbie to reclaim the things in his past he could be proud of instead of letting one terrible accident overshadow everything he'd done in life. 

Robbie's conviction had gradually led Vance to admit how strongly he felt about it, too. His friends had been as much victims of Stamford as anyone, but no one was about to erect a memorial in their honour. 

They could keep the name alive, though. This wasn't a profession you stayed in because of the glory, although some people handled the celebrity better than others. You did it to help people. As long as they kept doing that, it didn't matter what anyone thought of them. Thrash, for all his faults, had known that.

Vance maybe should have considered the effect actually _finding_ Rich and especially Namorita might have on Robbie, though. It wouldn't have changed the decision to go looking for them, but like with what had happened to Sam, Vance felt like he'd neglected emotional ramifications he should have been looking out for. If they couldn't stabilise Nita now...

The lab doors hissed open. Vance darted a quick glance over from where he sat with his arms crossed over the back of a chair; it was Jesse Alexander.

"Thanks for coming down," Vance said, returning his full attention to Namorita. She was quiescent for the moment, but Faira hadn't been kidding about the violent outbursts. The fact that she hadn't regained full consciousness at all yet worried him. "I wanted to check in on you guys, but as you can see, I'm tied down here."

Mr Alexander approached the tank, peering in at Namorita floating in restless sleep. Her skin pigmentation had already taken on a decidedly blue cast, making her look more and more like the Namorita who had died at Stamford.

"A prisoner?" Mr Alexander asked. 

"Sick friend," Vance said. "Jake Waffles has been trying to stabilise her genetic structure, but someone has to keep her from punching holes in the tank."

"Why don't you just sedate her?"

"Too hard to predict how it would react with her changing biology, especially at the rate she'd burn it off, fully immersed. Water Snake gets in there with her and manages some kind of aqua-pressure that keeps her fairly calm, but I have to settle for putting a shield between her and the glass," Vance explained. Faira had also had to get her in a full-body hold and lock the water around her a couple of times.

Looking down, Mr Alexander took in Robbie, still slumped at the foot of the tank. Vance had decided to let him sleep while he could. Jesse frowned. "How long has she been like this?"

"Five—no, six days," Vance said. He had to keep his attention on Namorita, but it was hard not to feel like he was avoiding Mr Alexander's eyes. "What about your people? Any problems?"

Mr Alexander's expression grew sour. "My people are nothing but problems. We lost almost half of us with the ship, and most of 'em didn't even get to shoot at anything, so they're antsy."

Vance winced guiltily. Pieces had already been falling off of the commandeered ship when they got there. When Jake Waffles started shouting about it losing structural integrity, Vance had been the only one with any chance of containing it. Vance could move, he had known for a while, a lot faster than he usually did when over populated areas with noise abatement laws regarding sonic booms; he'd still felt slow as he watched sections of hull peel off of the stolen Chitauri ship, seeing its attackers vanish like mirages.

"It's good to feel like sentient beings again and not caged animals," Mr Alexander went on. "Get them washed, fed, and dressed like people, maybe they'll start acting like it. God, I missed pants."

Vance decided not to touch that one. Instead, he bit the bullet and brought up the subject they'd both been avoiding. "We're going to find Sam."

"Damn right you are."

"He's a smart kid; I think you'd be surprised at how well he can handle himself. But we have no intention of leaving him to handle anything on his own, I promise you," Vance said.

"That's a promise you'd better not break." Mr Alexander's eyes tone was flat and his eyes were flatter. Vance was reminded that this man had survived for months in a brutal alien arena wielding nothing but human strength and edged weapons.

Robbie woke up a while later and volunteered to bring back lunch. While he was gone, Namorita grew restive again. Vance wished they didn't have to keep her confined, but since they'd left Arakor there was no question of finding a larger body of water for her. Even though Namorita was half human, she had always drawn more strength from the sea than the air. They _had_ to keep her in until she regained her senses.

Doing this day after day was exhausting, though. Vance's headache had returned long before Faira took over, although the nosebleed didn't: small favours. 

Faira also came carrying dinner for Robbie. The past several days had seen a change in their relationship. With the question of Faira's identity settled, Robbie's primary reason for antagonising her had been eliminated. Not that he didn't still supply an unending string of wisecracks whether it was wanted or not, but his matter-of-fact presence watching over Namorita around the clock hadn't gone unnoticed. That level of devotion obviously spoke to Faira, who had followed her duty far past the borders of her own comfort. And, apparently, personal enmity. Every day Namorita didn't wake, Vance expected her to demand he turn the ship around and take Namorita back to Earth, to her own people. He didn't know what he'd do if she did, how he could choose between the wellbeing of one teammate and the safety of another.

Everyone was tense, worried about Sam and Nita and ready to deploy on a moment's notice. Either they had got tired of standing or Jake Waffles had got tired of them hovering, because the team was split between the rec room and the kitchen, although no one was playing video games and there wasn't a lot of eating going on. 

Chris was still out scouting ahead. Jake Waffles was holding up all right, thanks to his enhanced physiology, so Vance decided to make his rounds. There was more to being a team leader than just shouting a catchphrase at the front of a charge. 

In the kitchen, he found Jack Flag eating a week-old bagel with an abnormal degree of relish while Aracely and Gamora looked on. There was another on a plate in front of Gamora. She poked at it suspiciously.

"Is this revenge for the time I tricked you into drinking hroniss?"

"I ought to. You've been to Earth before, haven't you? How have you never eaten a bagel?"

"You two know each other, I take it," Vance said as he made a beeline for the coffee. Jack Flag and Thanos' adoptive daughter: sure, why not?

"The Guardians of the Galaxy pulled me out of Fantasy Island when Blastaar took it over. I hung out on their roster for a bit, but there's only so much of this cosmic shit a man can take."

"Justice loves it. He worries all the time, but he still thinks the spaceship is awesome," Aracely said brightly. 

Vance just sighed and plucked a piece of the alien fruit they'd gotten on Spartax from the bowl in front of her. "Thank you, Hummingbird."

"Telepaths are all nosy; you get used to it." Gamora didn't sound particularly resigned to that fact, however.

Aracely made a face, confirming Vance's perception. "Your mind is very sharp. The way you feel things cuts."

Gamora stared at her for a long moment. Aracely didn't flinch; but then, Aracely thought Kaine was a teddy-bear. 

"I can see why Angela doesn't like you," she said at last.

"You do know you don't have to say everything out loud like that, right?" Jack said.

"As long as I have you here," Vance said, sitting down, "I was wondering if you might be able to help me with something."

"Shoot," Jack said. "What is it?"

"These people we're looking for, the ones who destroyed your ship and kidnapped Kid Nova, they call themselves the Fraternity of Raptors. Have either of you encountered them before?"

"Doesn't ring a bell. Gamora?"

"Your friend Darkhawk seemed to recognise them. Three of them appeared to be wearing the same kind of armour." Gamora took a tentative bite of her bagel. "Why does it taste like that?"

"It's rye," Jack said. "What about the last one?"

"She wasn't wearing armour," Vance said. "I'm thinking with the way the others acted to distract us from pursuing her, she might have been the leader."

Vance had been on that side of the fight, but he'd broken off to assist the escapees before closing with any of the Raptors; a more in-depth review of their recordings of the fight was looking like his next step. And he could do that sitting down, thank god.

"She showed up as one on the scans, except that she seemed to be manipulating light instead of darkforce energy." Vance told them. "Chris described something like laser-wings and antennae."

Jack turned toward Gamora. "Laser-wings. Doesn't that remind you of someone we're acquainted with?" 

Gamora frowned at her bagel, then glared at Aracely when she giggled. Vance ate his fruit and let her think.

"I suppose it's possible. You had more contact with her than I did."

"Her, him," Jack muttered. "Call her what you like. Call her the physical embodiment of everything I hate about this cosmic crap."

"Who?" Vance asked intently.

"Starhawk," Gamora said. "But I thought you and Peter told us she was a Guardian of the Galaxy in her time."

"She was a crazy, gender-flipping, time-travelling psychic. With the amount of beating up our team she also did, I'm going to call not-surprised," Jack said.

"A valid point," Gamora allowed. She turned to Vance. "Did this ship of yours capture any images of the attackers?"

 

"I haven't had a chance to review the footage," Vance said, navigating to the sensor archives on one of the bridge consoles. 

He'd sent Jake Waffles to go rest. Vance could cruise the ship through hyperspace behind Chris, and they had been asking too much of Waffles. Everyone needed to be as fresh as possible when they reached the end of this trail.

"Ah. Here it is." Vance scanned through the sector recordings until he found the ones from the area where the odd Raptor out had grabbed Sam and ran them until he had an angle on her face. 

Jake frowned. "It's not a very good picture." 

"I'll try and find a better one, but we were all moving pretty fast."

Vance left the shot up in a corner of the projection and kept searching. Gamora and Jake watched keenly. 

"That could be her," Jake said. "Or it could be Iron Man with some glowsticks. That photo qualifies as abstract art. Plus, she had a habit of looking different every time you turned around."

"A shapeshifter?" Vance asked. "From what Darkhawk says, the Raptors have some abilities along those lines."

Jack shook his head. "Time-flux. She's from the future. The way I understand it, when the future changes, she changes."

"What's your history with this Starhawk?" Vance asked them.

Gamora pursed her lips. "Mixed," she answered judiciously. "You might contact your future self; Starhawk was a member of his Guardians of the Galaxy."

"Huh. I recognised the name, but the Starhawk he had on the team when I met them was male, and we didn't really interact." Vance hadn't even learned most of their names until his tour with the Avengers.

"Starhawk was always more ruthless than Major Victory in pursuit of her goals."

"You sound like you approve," Vance said.

"Well, not when it means killing me, obviously. Whenever we've encountered her, Starhawk has been dedicated to preventing some sort of temporal crisis in the distant future. Apparently, it has its origins in this time."

"Major Victory said something about time and space flying apart. But what could that possibly have to do with Sam?"

Gamora shrugged. "But if it was Starhawk who took him, he is most likely still alive. Her aggressions have always been very direct."

"On the other hand, she seems to be working with this Fraternity of Raptors, who were willing to destroy the _Odysseus_ along with everyone aboard her in order to distract us for a few minutes. It may have been something as simple as not wanting to damage the helmet. If it really is the last functioning Nova helmet, with an unblockable, unlimited line to the Nova Force, it's not hard to see why someone would want to grab it."

Vance went through the recordings of the putative Starhawk frame by frame and shot the best captures to Major Victory on Spartax, along with a status update: hopefully he was still there. After he did that, Vance called Selah to the bridge. Now they were missing Sam, he was going to have to move up his training schedule with her. Jake Waffles couldn't teach any of them a useful amount about ship repair or advanced genetic manipulation, but piloting was a skill more of them could pick up. He hadn't asked Gamora about her qualifications in that area, but in most situations her ability to survive and fight in hard vacuum ought to be more important anyway. They had a limited number of people who could apply their talents directly outside a contained environment like a spaceship. 

It was all about balance. The nice thing about an expansive roster like the Avengers' was that, given a little luck and a little time, you could pick and choose the people best-suited for a mission. Vance wished he could find a way to apply Robbie's talents out here, but the one thing the High Evolutionary apparently hadn't stocked up on was spacesuits. That teakettle helmet getup was probably hermetically sealed.

Over the com, Chris didn't have a lot more to say about the Raptors. What Vance could pull off the intergalactic com net was mostly wanted notices for Chris. He wished he had access to the Shi'ar archive, since that was what these Raptors were apparently about. But even if he could persuade someone to beam the information out here, he didn't have time for that kind of in-depth research. Or at least, he hoped he didn't.

There hadn't been an opportunity to ask Faira about whatever the hell that had been between her and Namorita before Nita collapsed, either. Vance supposed they could deal with that when Namorita was up and about again, but seriously: what the hell? 

"What are _you_ brooding about?" Selah asked him.

"I'm thinking," Vance said.

"Brooding is thinking about depressing things. Tell me you aren't thinking about depressing things." Selah cocked a challenging eyebrow at him.

"It's not that depressing. Yet," Vance said defensively. 

" _I'd_ be less depressed if you let me fly the ship..." Selah trailed off leadingly.

Vance's lips twitched in a brief smile. "Not just yet. Hyperspace is nothing to fool around with. One wrong move and we're quantum road kill."

"Well aren't you just a downer."

"Yes, safety's a drag," Vance agreed. "Why don't you go over the sub-luminal controls for me one more time?"

Selah heaved an exaggerated sigh. Just as she was turning her attention to the panel in front of her, an indicator light started to blink. Selah jumped back and jerked her hands up.

"It wasn't me, I didn't touch anything, I swear!"

Vance suppressed a smile. "Relax, it's just the com. I switched us off so we wouldn't distract Darkhawk."

"Oh. Right. I totally knew that," Selah said, hesitating only momentarily before identifying the control that would turn the volume back up. "Hey, Chris! You find Sam yet?"

"You're broadcasting on an open channel," Vance reminded her in a pained tone.

"Yeah, but 'Chris' isn't a pan-galactic fugitive," Selah muttered back sotto voce.

Well, that was a point. 

_"They re-entered normal space at the coordinates I'm feeding you,"_ Chris said.

That got both of their undivided attention. Vance pounced on the transmission readout as it shunted over to their star-maps. 

"Good work," Vance told him.

_"There's more. I know this is where they left hyperspace because there are traces, but I'm not picking the Raptor up in the Datasong at all anymore. I mean, my connexion's pretty good these days in that I can tell it's there, but I still can't read it like they do. It might just be my brain rejecting delivery..."_

"Or it might be a trap," Vance completed the thought. 

_"It_ would _be just our luck,"_ Chris agreed.

"I don't see any options: we're going in anyway."

_"I was hoping you'd say that."_ Vance could hear the smile in Chris's voice.

He turned to Selah. "Get on the intercom. I need Jake Waffles up here and Gamora, Angela, and Aracely ready to take this outside. We're coming up on those coordinates fast."

"On it!" 

Selah's voice echoed from the speakers in the hall. Vance switched channels to hail the _Resolute Duty_ and filled them in. By the time he'd finished, Jake Waffles had arrived to take the conn. Mark had come up to be of what assistance he could; Jesse Alexander thundered by him, a desperate hope in his eyes that made Vance want to shrink away.

"She stopped running," Vance answered the question before it could be asked. "I'm going to take the fight to her. You think you and Jack can figure out the weapons on this thing?"

Mr Alexander bared his teeth in something that was not a smile. "You bet your ass, kid."

_"Just be careful who you're shooting at this time,"_ Chris warned him.

"Young folks today are such whiners," Mr Alexander said aside to Jack Flag. "What are you waiting around for, star-boy? Go! Bring me back my son."

Vance nodded and resumed his course for the doors. They slid open for him with their usual pneumatic whoosh, but he paused for a moment before he stepped through. Kaine was crouched on the wall next to the doorway, tense and no doubt primed for a fight. His very stillness was an indicator of his agitation. But like Mark, his abilities were of no help to him in this kind of space conflict.

"I'll be careful," Vance promised. _I love you._

"Keep an eye on Aracely for me."

"Always."

They stood staring hard at each other for another couple seconds, no time now to say everything that was between them. Vance looked away at last, striding through the doors before they slid shut on him.

_Shake it off._ Vance forced himself to push his feelings aside and focus on the matter at hand as he walked the short distance to the nearest airlock. 

His team was already waiting for him. Vance could feel the excitement humming in the air between Angela and Gamora. They were fighters: this was what they lived for. Vance had some qualms about unleashing them on this Starhawk, but his options were limited. And given what he understood about how Chris's Darkhawk armour worked, he wasn't at all certain a Raptor _could_ be killed. They'd lain defunct for millennia, banished to some other dimension. Vance considered gloomily that _not_ being able to kill them was likely to be a more pressing problem. 

Angela's ribbons rustled, twisting around her, their reflexions writhing over the gleaming surface of her armour. Gamora's hand emerged from the starry shadows of her cloak to bat one away almost absently. Angela shot her a reproachful look, which Gamora somehow had the brass to ignore. Instead, she was watching Aracely.

"Are you even paying attention?" Gamora asked.

"Hshhh," Aracely, who despite all the time she'd spent with Kaine had apparently not picked up any danger instincts, shushed the deadliest woman in the galaxy. "I am listening to space."

"Excuse me?"

"Can you hear it, god-lady?" Aracely asked Angela. "It's getting closer."

_"Preparing to drop out of hyperspace,"_ Jake Waffles announced.

"Let's go," Vance said, stepping into the airlock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End of Book One!
> 
> I'm going to try to post a chapter a day until New Year's. Happy Hanukkah!


	12. Chapter 12

* * *

**BOOK TWO**

* * *

_Intergalactic Space_

Vance had to stop and absorb the fact that he was flying through outer space, with nothing but his own will between himself and the vacuum. It always took his breath away. So to speak. 

Chris was waiting for them, amulet and visor glowing redly in the stygian darkness. _"It wasn't just me,"_ his voice sounded over Vance's com. _"There's something about this place. I sent a claw drone to scout ahead, but my suit's sensor readings are full of holes, so I don't know how much good it will do. Hell, I can't even get a clear picture."_

Vance looked around. He saw their ships; an orphaned planet, barren and dark, barely visible; his strike team: the glow of the energy-blade that had appeared in Gamora's hand, Angela's silvery wings unfurled, all their uncanny glowing eyes. 

"Everything looks normal to me," he said. 

_"We're having the same trouble up here,"_ Philo relayed. 

_"There is some sort of very intense energy discharge coming from the planet,"_ Jake Waffles added. _"Analysing."_

"Okay, that looks like a good place to start. Sil, if there's atmosphere, you may be handling more of the teleporting than we planned."

_"Just say where and when."_

"You sure?"

Sil sighed. _"Justice. Space is nothing_ but _shadows."_

"Everybody spread out and keep your eyes open." 

Reaching out with his mind to tow Aracely, Vance accelerated to full speed. Chris took up a position past Aracely to his right. Gamora and Angela arranged themselves on his left with enough room between them that the broad span of Angela's wings was in no danger of catching anyone by accident.

_"I think I understand what Hummingbird was talking about now,"_ she said.

_"Yes,"_ Gamora agreed. _"I don't think this is a good place to be. We should find Nova and depart as soon as possible."_

"No argument here," Vance said.

_"Justice, over there."_ Aracely pointed. _"It's thinking very loud now. Let me show you the way."_

"All right, Hummingbird. Gently, just like we practiced."

While Aracely was still working to make progress on shielding out the thoughts of others, her skill at actively using her telepathy had improved tremendously over the past months. He could feel her in his head. Then, like someone had tuned his ears like a radio dial, he began to hear it. Like the susurrus of traffic or a voice speaking quickly just below the threshold of understanding, it was running between the _Resolute Duty_ and the orphan planet's surface. Was she perceiving their active scanners?

There was another noise Aracely was trying to filter out, a creaking like the limb of a tree just before it broke. The sense-memory of the rush of the fall and the pains, dull and sharp, of impact were not his own, although they made Vance's old breaks twinge in sympathy. He was uncomfortably aware that these were subliminal associations the psychic noise was stirring up, and he could tell Aracely didn't like their implications any more than he did.

They cut through the empty dark in silence, the _New Wundagore III_ and the _Resolute Duty_ shadowing them at a distance, technological leviathans. Even Aracely was intent on guiding him along the trail she'd found, letting him see through the blackness. 

Miles meant nothing outside of a planet's gravitational well, and the speed of sound was a non-concept in vacuum. It was hard not to lose himself in the surreality of this endless moment, racing flat-out to keep up with his companions with no accompanying evidence of movement. It was like driving towards mountains: they always seemed distant, right until you found yourself in the foothills.

But Vance couldn't afford to zone out. He searched the void around them for movement, keeping an eye to the reddish, nebulous blob that was the galaxy this planet must once have been ejected from. 

Much like the mountains, Vance found the planet's icy, barren surface suddenly occupying his entire field of vision. They were still on track, although from this distance Vance still couldn't see anything but glazed craters and wind-sculpted eruptions of ice on the patch of ground they were headed for.

"Darkhawk, you have anything to report? Atmosphere, ships, structures, life signs, anything?"

_"Enough atmosphere you'll need to shield for re-entry; beyond that, I'll let you know once we're in,"_ Chris replied. 

Re-entry. Vance had never tried that before. Aracely cranked her head over her shoulder to stare at him in wide-eyed alarm. Vance returned her a reckless grin. He was pretty sure that if he could handle getting punched in the face by an Eternal, he could handle a little friction-heat. It wasn't like he was going into an uncontrolled fall.

_"O-oh, I think I understand you and Kaine better now,"_ Aracely told him over the com.

"Chatter," he told her primly.

Aracely huffed a sigh, then stiffened. Linked as their minds were, the recognition that hit Aracely also rang through Vance like a bell. _Sam!_

_"Oh, good! You're still alive!"_ Aracely said aloud. _"We're coming for—oh. I will tell them."_ She turned to Vance again, reinforcing the telepathic link that had slipped along with her concentration. _"We had better go down now. We probably do not want to do both of these things at once."_

The Raptor. "You heard the lady," Vance told his strike team. "Kid Nova is down there, and he's got company."

He brought Aracely in closer to conserve his energy, running over what he'd learned from the Avengers and his aeronautics professor in college as he strengthened and shaped his shields. It was going to be speed versus heat: the question was whether he would rather fight friction or gravity.

_You might want to back out a bit,_ he warned Aracely. Telekinetic sensation was not the same as tactile sensation or he wouldn't be much good in a fight; but even hardening everything as much as he could, this did not promise to be the most pleasant thing he'd ever done.

_Well, you're the one who's always been so in love with the idea of wingless flight,_ Vance reminded himself. Boy, that planet was coming up fast now. He could already feel it pulling at him.

Heat over speed; Aracely had some pyrokinetic abilities. He went in at the shallowest angle he could, remembering at the last second to alter the density of the innermost layer to bend the light in such a way as not to burn out their retinas.

Even through his shields, Vance felt like he'd just stuck his head in an oven. If he'd been trying to control their velocity, he'd have needed to create drag with his shields, producing heat but also deflecting it. Well, or a few hours to come down, because his terminal velocity over an Earth-like body was well below the speed of sound, which he was used to handling and would produce minimal heat. It was orbital velocity that caused problems.

Making the decision not to consider their velocity meant Vance could keep their profile smaller and more aerodynamic. It reduced heat by reducing drag, and he wouldn't have to accelerate back to speed when they reached the lower atmosphere, where they were more likely to encounter opposition. All he needed to do was remember to pull up.

They plummeted like missiles, the sound of their passage thundering in Vance's ears. He hadn't thought about the sound. Out of all of them, Vance was probably presenting the smoothest profile, but this was not going to be a quiet entrance. The five of them were going to arrive like a clap of thunder, trailing sonic booms like tin cans behind a honeymoon car.

Vance grit his teeth and held steady. He was really starting to see the appeal of a Nova helmet with a heads-up display and a connexion to a supercomputer. At this point, he was pretty much taking it on faith that his head wasn't _actually_ on fire. 

Vance's arms were pointed over his head like a diver's, the shields echoing their shape. He could see the ground coming up, or at least he thought he could through the distorting barriers and white heat. With a shout of effort that tore its way out of his throat, Vance brought his arms back, pulling out of the dive and at the same time wrenching his shield into an obtuse triangle that caught the air like a glider.

Vance's shout was transmuted to a whoop of exhilaration. Adrenaline shot through him, making the his fingertips tingle and, for a precious half-second, all his worries evaporate. They shed burning air like water. If Aracely could give him a bead on Sam, he'd grab him without slowing down and blow right back out of the atmosphere again.

They _were_ close. Echoes of Sam's thoughts in Aracely's head mixed with an almost intelligible voice speaking rapidly, tantalisingly close. Everything was jumbled together, a confusion of input and excitement, so Vance focussed down and did his best to make his thoughts, at least, clear and focussed. 

_"Incoming!"_ someone, Vance couldn't tell who, shouted over his com. 

A streak of light blurred past. Chris barely dodged it. 

_"No! You must stop!"_

_"Not gonna happen!"_ Chris replied, reaching out with impossible reflexes to grapple with his attacker when it came back around. 

Aracely slapped at the telekinetic field Vance was still holding around her. "You can let me go now. Find Sam! He's in the building up ahead. We'll cover you."

Vance let her go, and she swerved around, doubling back to Chris's aid. He and his assailant had fallen behind quickly; everyone else was twisting up into loops, dumping momentum before they overshot their goal. 

"You fools!" Vance heard as he passed the combatants and then once more left them behind. "You'll doom us all!"

The building Aracely had mentioned was up ahead. It was a long, low structure, camouflaged by the windswept, icy protrusions of the surrounding landscape. Dim sodium lights picked it out of the general darkness. As Vance approached, he saw two figures race out of it; well, at least he knew where the door was.

It took them no time at all to start shooting at him. Oddly, they were shooting fire, ice, and some sort of energy pulses, not the darkforce blasts that were characteristic of the Raptors, and neither one of them took to the air.

They weren't wearing masks, either. One of them looked as crystalline as Iceman or Emma Frost, glinting in the building's dim exterior lights; but the other appeared to be standard flesh and blood.

"Sil! Waffles!" Vance yelled into his com as he dodged and wove. "We've got breathable atmosphere. Reinforcements to my position. That's where they're holding Kid Nova. At least three hostiles."

_"Copy that,"_ Jake Waffles acknowledged.

The one shooting out ice and fire—it couldn't _actually_ be Iceman, could it? Vance hadn't heard any wisecracks, but he was naggingly familiar—was bad enough, but the rapid-fire from his companion's gun was a real problem. Vance swooped in to try and knock it out of her hands, but got tagged by a blast of ice instead. He'd have been half frozen if it weren't for the personal shield he'd kept up.

While Vance was breaking his way out of the ice and taking more hits to his shield, Gamora caught up with him. The woman, who was literally steaming in the chill air, didn't miss a beat, pulling another weapon from its holster to include Gamora in her barrage. Her opponent actually managed to shoot one of her blades out of her hand before the other sliced her rifle in two pieces. Closing, Gamora delivered a punch to her face; her knuckles came away smoking.

Meanwhile, Vance's guy, seeing that his ice attacks weren't working, had switched to fire. Evidence was mounting up against the Iceman theory. He also had an uncanny way of dodging Vance's telekinetic strikes, almost as though he knew where they were going to be.

Just as Vance was about to ask what was holding them up, figures materialised out of the shadows. It would be Sil, and Kaine and Mark, and of course Mr Alexander; and there was Selah, rising into the air, along with Centurion Fraktur, wielding her flight-stick. This was how Vance liked the odds: stacked in his favour.

"Look out!" 

Selah hit him with a pretty good football tackle given they were both airborne. It knocked the breath out of him, but also kept what Vance was guessing was Starhawk from hitting him from behind.

"Warriors—" Vance started as soon as he'd reinflated his lungs a bit.

"Wait!" Aracely came to a rest mid-air in the centre of the conflict, arms held palm-out. "You need to listen to them!"

"And just who _are_ they?" Chris asked as he and Angela joined the party.

"We're the Guardians of the Galaxy, numpkiss," said the steaming lady, not lowering her weapons.

"The raccoon was right: there really are too many of them," Selah said.

"We must not fight so near the construct."

"Why, Starhawk? What construct?" Gamora asked.

The flying woman in the spangled bodysuit who had almost taken Vance out cocked her head curiously. "Do you know me?"

"Some version of you. You're the rest of Major Victory's future Guardians, aren't you? The missing—"

"DAD!" Sam cried from inside.

Sam flung himself at his father so hard Jesse Alexander staggered back out through the door. His strong arms wrapped tightly around his son; Sam's sneakers weren't even touching the ground. Vance looked away.

"If you're the Guardians of the Galaxy, what are you doing kidnapping children?" Chris demanded, pointing at Sam.

"I have a better question." The steaming lady had produced another gun and stood once more with one in either hand. "If we're the Guardians of the Galaxy, who the flark are you?"

"Well, let me introduce myself," Vance said. "We're the New Warriors. And I'm Vance Astrovik."

" _What?_ "

"I big doubt that," said the walking Frost poem, with unflattering incredulity.

_What, is it just because I'm shorter?_ Vance wondered a little resignedly. It wasn't _that_ big a difference. "You're Martinex, aren't you? We've met before. Both of you, and Yondu, and Charlie-27, but a different Starhawk. You all came with the Fantastic Four to try and stop my older self from finding me, but you were too late."

"Vance? _This_ dinkwaft?" the steaming lady stopped spluttering enough to manage. Vance tried to think whether he'd ever gotten her name. "'Leta? Are you going to act surprised?"

"I am one who knows," Starhawk replied serenely.

"Justice." Sil had melted into the shadows during this exchange and was standing in the building's single doorway. "I think you need to see this."

Casting a cautious look at the renegade Guardians, Vance flew across to her. Sil's expression was unexpectedly grim. 

"Hey, you can't go in there!" Nikki, that was it, objected, bringing her guns around. 

He and Sil reacted as one, yanking them away. Manoeuvring at a height, Vance had been concerned about accidentally taking her hands along with her armaments, but enough was enough. He ripped the hand gun from her grasp while Sil wrapped tendrils of darkforce around the larger, longer rifle until it disappeared completely.

Nikki stopped struggling when one of the darkforce projections slid around her throat. Sil wasn't _quite_ squeezing her hard enough for Vance to feel that he needed to tell her to back off, but whatever had upset her, he had a sinking feeling it wasn't just about Sam.

"Why not? What's in there that you don't want us to see?" Vance asked.

"Please." Starhawk held her hands palm out, landing between Vance and the darkened doorway. "You must not disrupt the construct. We have already lost far too much ground."

"If you don't want a fight, then get out of my way," Vance told her bluntly.

"You must promise," Starhawk insisted.

"I just want to look," Vance said and pushed past her.

Inside, it was even darker than outside. The only source of light was a faint yellowish glow coming from the far side of the room. Most of the building seemed to be empty space, although there appeared to be a section blocked off to Vance's left. 

The temperature was lower, too. When Vance reached out to touch one of the walls, he understood. Its surface was smooth and cold, thick but with no chinks or seams. The entire structure had been constructed from dust-infused ice, carved, maybe, from the planet's frozen mantle.

Cautiously, Vance approached the light source. It seemed to be a beam of some sort being projected between a reclining chair, also made of ice, and a point in front of the far wall. As he came nearer, he saw there was someone in the chair, a dark-garbed figure who seemed to fade into the shadows. There were metal details on his clothing; the shapes of them were familiar. Vance felt the hairs on the back of his neck start to rise under his cowl.

The man—it was a man—in the chair was missing his right arm below the shoulder. His face was shockingly pale in the darkness, gaunt and drawn as though from a long illness. His eyes were slitted open and unfocussed, their pupils fully dilated. Vance scarcely recognised him.

"Explain this. Now," Vance said, his voice flat, as angry and sickened as he'd ever been in his life.

"He is maintaining the construct."

"You're using him as some kind of battery?" accused Gamora, who had followed them in, sounding as outraged as Vance felt.

"The construct preserves our reality," Starhawk informed them calmly. "Months ago, we arrived here, the four of us together. Martinex, Nikki, and I had become separated from the rest of the Guardians while attempting to travel to this era of the past. This man, Nova, believed that he had been lodged between dimensions and our arrival here had somehow knocked him loose. 

"It was fortunate we did. The Guardians of the Galaxy were journeying to the past in order to avert an event that would shatter the future. But it is not one event: it is any of a countless number of possible disasters. We were spat out here through a crack in the fabric of reality. There are dozens, perhaps hundreds of cracks here in this local space alone. In coming through, we had caused one to begin expanding. If Nova had not acted to contain it, it soon would have torn open the others, creating a catastrophic breach of this reality."

"Yes; we've already experienced one," Gamora said. Even she seemed daunted by the prospect of facing a repeat of that disaster. Standing here, looking down at the aftermath, Vance didn't blame her one bit.

"Nova has arrested the expansion of the crack, but only for so long as his construct remains stable. Unfortunately, there have been increasing fluctuations in his power source."

"Me," Sam whispered. He stood with one of his father's hands on his shoulder, eyes wide as he took in the tableau.

"Every time the construct was disrupted, we lost ground," Starhawk explained. "As the fissure grows, it becomes more difficult to contain. It is already demanding all of Nova's power and attention. The fabric of space-time cannot support another lapse."

"And why should we believe you?" Chris demanded. 

Starhawk's eyes flashed. "Hear me, Raptor. This calamity threatens your precious empire as well."

"Hey, I'm not a Raptor. _You're_ the Raptor," Chris bristled.

"I am one who knows; I am the last Raptor. But our future is very different from what you envision," Starhawk told him. Then she turned to Vance. "You should not trust this creature; it serves only its own ends."

"I think I'll be the judge of who I trust," Vance snapped. "You're the one who was working with the Fraternity. They helped you kidnap Kid Nova and almost blew his dad up to keep us off your trail."

"You say that with one of them standing beside you. The Fraternity of Raptors is the reason I have not been able to leave this place to seek aid. Here, the Datasong is fragmented along with reality. I am protected so long as I remain where they cannot perceive me. But you have actually given two of your Novas to the Raptors." Starhawk's tone was dripping with disdain. 

"What are you talking about?" Fraktur shouldered closer. "The only one of these guys we know is Darkhawk here, and he's our friend _and_ the friend of the Nova Prime." She pointed one large, clawed finger at Rich's unresponsive form. "All we know about the rest of that crew is that they're apparently five thousand parsecs of bad space-route. So far, you fit the description."

Starhawk frowned, digesting that. "Our contact was brief, and I was distracted by other concerns. Two of the designates were a Xandarian and a Shi'ar, both touched by the Nova Force."

Vance was still looking at Rich. Of all the possibilities he'd imagined coming out here, including Rich's death, he'd never imagined this.

"What are you going to do?" Mark asked quietly.

Mark was—not quite hiding behind Vance, but the New Warriors were sort of clumped together. Kaine was a silent presence at his side, thinking who knew what. Mark and Selah were holding hands. 

Selah looked between them. "We can't just leave him like that."

Vance wanted to agree with her, but—if Rich _was_ actually holding the fabric of reality together with his bare hands, he would not thank any of them for jogging his elbow. Not that, if a huge gash in the space-time continuum did actually rip open as soon as they grabbed Rich, any of them would be around to thank. 

"We're going to help him," Vance said firmly. _Just as soon as we figure out how._ "But first things first. Justice to _Resolute Duty_. Are you reading me, Centurion Rider?"

Rob's voice came over Vance's com. _"Hey, so, now that we're on top of it, I can tell you that there is some kind of insanely powerful gravimetric anomaly right at your position. That wouldn't happen to be what they grabbed Sam for, would it?"_

"Only indirectly." Vance licked his lips, nerving himself for this next part. "We found Rich."

_"Oh my god. Is he okay? Is that him we're registering? I'm coming down."_

"I'll send Silhouette up for you in a minute," Vance told him. He glanced at Sil and she nodded. "But you need to understand, the situation is complicated. Have you managed to isolate a cause for the sensor interference?"

_"It's not interference,"_ Rob told him. _"There are holes in our data because there are holes in the universe. Are you going to tell me what's going on down there or what? Put Rich on."_

"That's going to be kind of difficult. I'll explain when you get here."

Sil looked at him. "Are you sure that's a good idea?"

"Just keep a hold of him. We're going to need him if we want to crack this."

Sil grimaced, but faded away into the darkness. Vance blew out his breath, wracking his brain. Aracely was drifting towards Rich and the scarcely visible tangle of power in front of him; Kaine, alert as always to her whereabouts, snagged the corner of her cape and tugged her back. 

"And who said you're in charge here?" Nikki put her hands on her hips, fingers drumming on the butt of her holstered gun; she'd stopped to pick it up again. 

"Rob is Rich's brother. Tell me, do any of you have a problem with him coming down?" Vance asked, a bit of an edge creeping into his voice. 

"Not impressed," Nikki told him. "I've kicked your ass when you were a lot bigger than you are now."

Vance was pretty sure he'd kicked _all_ the Guardians' asses when he was a lot smaller than he was now, but it wouldn't be productive to remind her of that.

"Cool it, Nikki. Or I'll cool it for you," Martinex warned. His translucence made him almost invisible in the darkness. 

"I'm already flarking frozen on this iceball," Nikki complained.

Martinex ignored that. "We need help. If nothing else, they have a ship."

"Two ships, actually," Selah said.

"And we know where the Guardians of the Galaxy are," Robbie added.

"Which ones?" Kaine muttered.

"Either, both," Robbie replied with an airy wave of his hand. "The galaxy is ass-deep in guardians. I say it's time they stopped letting us do their job for them and averted some cosmic disaster."

The three Guardians from the future exchanged a look. Martinex spoke. "He can't hold it indefinitely. No one can keep this up forever; we all see what it's doing to him. And what happens when he dies? We need another option, and I'm tired of just sitting around watching while a good man gives his life one millimetre at a time," Martinex said bluntly.

Nikki gave vent to a rude snort. " _You? I'm_ bored out of my mind, stuck here with you two and the human turnip. Fine, I get it. He bites it and we're all maxiflarked. I'm still not taking orders from Major Babyface."

Vance spread his hands, feeling weirdly self-conscious about his face now. _Not really her point,_ he reminded himself. "All I'm looking for is a little cooperation. He's our friend. And it's our universe, too." 

"Whatevermind. You're the ones who garked reality. What the hell have you orgs been doing back now, anyway?"

"Nikki," Starhawk said distantly.

"What?" Nikki snapped. Then she took a better look at Starhawk's expression. "What?" she asked again.

"They're here."

"Justice to _Wundagore_ ," Vance called instantly. "Are you picking up anything?"

_"Nothing new,"_ Jake Waffles responded. _"Why?"_

"They are concealing themselves," Starhawk said. Vance shouldn't have been surprised she had picked up on the transmission somehow; he'd heard her before, on the way in. "They have followed me. I revealed myself to the Fraternity and then vanished from the Datasong; that is enough to lead them to search me out in places they cannot see into."

"Can you tell how close they are?" Vance asked.

"Why don't you ask your Darkhawk? I can think of another way these Raptor dinks could have scoped us." Nikki shifted her suspicious glare to Chris.

Vance bit back a curse. "All right, let's lay this to rest once and for all. Darkhawk?"

"What?" Chris asked. "Shoot them?"

To his credit, he sounded more confused than eager at the prospect. Vance pinched the bridge of his nose; he supposed that counted as a sign of maturity. 

"No. Let them see you're a human."

Chris looked shocked.

"They're from the future: your identity is meaningless to them; and we need to demonstrate that you're in control," Vance explained. 

"I still say this is a bad idea," Chris grumbled, fading back into his own body and clothes. "Fuck! How cold is it on the rock?"

Nikki and Martinex looked unimpressed, but Starhawk was staring at him in shock.

"You are the designate," she said.

"Yeah, that's what Talon called me. Can I go back to my nice, warm null dimension now?" Chris asked crossly.

Vance looked between him and Starhawk. "I think so."

"Fuck," Chris said again, rubbing his bare arms until they were replaced by Darkhawk's gleaming greaves. "Now, if you know where these bastards are, can we please go fucking blast them back into their fucking Christmas tree ornaments?"

"You are in control. That is not possible in this—" She cut herself off short, an expression of intense attention and thought on her face.

Vance's head snapped around as Kaine leapt into motion beside him. He hurtled himself into the space between Rich and the dimly glowing construct but passed through without hitting anything, landing in a crouch on the other side of the room and seeming ready to spring again. Vance went instantly on high alert; more Raptors already?

"Scarlet Spider!" Vance barked at him across—shit. Across Aracely floating next to Rich, hands outstretched and eyes aglow.

Having missed once before, Kaine waited to be sure of his next grab. 

"Holy crap, your arms!" Sam exclaimed.

"Scarlet Spider, stay back," Vance snapped. Sam was right, there were some sort of spines growing on Kaine's arms, and not the usual thick stingers that emerged from the insides of his wrists. "This thing is affecting you, too. Starhawk?"

"You don't have a fucking clue what's going on here," Kaine snarled. 

"The construct is stable," Starhawk said. "If we are to keep the Raptors at bay, we must engage them now. They move quickly, but not as quickly as they might, to avoid alerting your ships to their presence."

_Just what we need._ Vance hadn't thought he could want anything more that he wanted to go punch something since he walked into this horror show; but right now, he wanted with every fibre of his being not to let Kaine out of his sight. _If he flies off the handle now..._ This _construct_ Starhawk kept talking about had taken over two of his friends now, and it was doing something to Kaine which could only conceivably get worse if he threw himself bodily into it trying to rescue Aracely. _Or to you, if you throw yourself in after him,_ he schooled himself firmly.

There was no avoiding it: between flight and hitting power, Vance _had_ to join Starhawk against the Raptors; and there would be no moving Kaine away from Aracely. He was just going to have to trust Kaine to keep a hold of himself and not destroy the space-time continuum. 

"Haechi, you stay here with Scarlet Spider and help Martinex and Nikki guard Rich. Centurion Fraktur, I want you on close air support. Keep the Raptors out of this building."

"Yes, sir," Fraktur said with the reflex of solid training. 

Nikki heaved a loud sigh and made a show of checking her remaining weapons. Martinex eyed Fraktur's muscular bulk, impressive even without the Nova Force behind it, speculatively. 

"With that much orgpower, you ought to be able to keep them off of us, 'Leta," he said. "I'd really rather not be at the epicentre if Nova's construct falls apart, big grat."

His dry tone did not seem to register on Starhawk. "If necessary, Darkhawk and I may have to draw them off by fleeing the system. The less time they have to analyse this local space, the better. It is too great a potential lever on the rest of the universe."

Vance was watching Kaine. He wanted to go over to him, just for a quick, private word, but didn't want to risk setting him off. So far, he was reining himself in, which was something.

"What about me—us?" Sam added with a quick glance up over his shoulder at his father.

Crap. _I should have sent them up with Sil._ Vance had been too shocked by finding Rich like this to take advantage of the opportunity.

"He cannot put on the helmet," Starhawk stressed. 

Fraktur pulled a rod with a glowing blue core out of her belt. It was dwarfed by her massive hand. "Here," she said, handing it to Sam. "Take my fight-stick."

Mr Alexander had equipped himself from the High Evolutionary's armoury. Since his security had been the Knights of Wundagore, of whom Jake Waffles was the last survivor, the selection was pretty impressive. He, at least, would be far from helpless, stocked with everything from laser-guns to mêlée weapons. Vance figured he could be counted on to protect Sam, but he was still mostly an unknown quantity, and Sam was impulsive.

"I still hate fighting on the ground," Mr Alexander grumbled. He was all but bouncing on the balls of his feet, as though suppressing the instinct to push off into flight.

"We must move swiftly, before they discover that I am aware of their presence," Starhawk said.

Everyone else was headed outside, but Vance hung back. Mark lingered by the door. Vance gave him a brief nod, unsure whether he was uncertain or protecting their privacy; either was fine.

"Kaine," he said as softly as he could manage, across the gulf between them. Barring Robbie (and Aracely's unplumbed abilities), Mark was the most physically resilient of them; but he was also the least experienced. 

"I'm not leaving her," Kaine rasped.

That was concerning; Vance was almost more reluctant to leave _him_ than Rich or Aracely. "She's not the only one who needs your help. You can't see them coming from in here, anyway," Vance tried. 

He felt only marginally better for coaxing Kaine out of the ice-bunker, watching closely for more of whatever alarming physical distortions the contained rip had caused. Most of the others were already in the air. Shooting a last glance over his shoulder at Kaine, he lifted off. The impulse Vance had to shake him and tell him to get his head back in the game was no good, given he was pretty sure Kaine was barely restraining a similar urge to shake _him_ and ask him why he was screwing around with all this cosmic bullshit instead of just grabbing Rich and especially Aracely and flattening anyone who got in their way.

The tear Rich was holding closed and the structure the Guardians had erected around him were on the side of the planet facing away from the distant galaxy from which it had been ejected long ago. Despite the vast gulfs that existed between bodies in space, compared to which even the speed of light seemed merely to crawl, almost no place was far enough removed to completely escape the far glimmer of its neighbours. The view from the surface of this intergalactic orphan was darker than any Vance had seen yet, billions of years of distance stretching out in front of them. The handful of pinpricks of light that reached them here were probably entire galaxies, a sky-full of stars compressed into those twinkling sparks. 

Chris was speaking over Vance's com. _"Sun Girl, the Raptors use offensive darkforce blasts like I do. Your light tech should be effective against them. The armours are empty; target the gems."_

"How are they coming in?" Vance asked.

_"They've got stealth; if the ships aren't picking them up, they're probably trying to sneak up on us."_

_"In the face of this level of resistance, they will opt for heavier firepower once we engage,"_ Starhawk said.

Vance thought fast. "I'm going to set a shield around the bunker. They won't get by without us knowing about it."

It was a big area to cover, but it wouldn't be for long. Vance almost wished it were that simple; he felt subtly off-balance, almost like he had during the fight with the Tribe when East's temporal abilities had been running amok. There was definitely something strange about this place. Vance had noticed it a little coming in, a sensation like the world wasn't moving smoothly, as though someone were inserting blank frames into a movie he was watching. It was nothing he could see; but with all that had been said here, he was disinclined to dismiss it entirely. 

The others spread out around him, peering into the empty, endless night for some sign of movement. Vance wondered if he shouldn't have tried to get everyone under the shield: they could be picked off like this. He reassured himself that it would take one hell of a hit to take down most of this crew, and that there were too many of them to take down all at once anyway. 

There was no warning. It was all Vance could do to hold the shield and push back enough to halt their momentum. His head was ringing, because the Raptors had come in _hard_ , clearly intending to break through; but that wasn't what was wrong.

"They're here. There are," Vance's vision greyed out for a second; that wasn't good, "five of them."

_"What?"_ Chris demanded.

"I felt five separate impacts. They're all around us."

Down on the ground, Kaine swore in bad-tempered anticipation. 

_"I'll second that."_ The voice was that of an unfamiliar woman, Vance was guessing the future Guardian Nikki. 

"There!" 

Vance had been right; they were surrounded. Five Darkhawk armours, distinguishable only by the colour of the amulets on their cuirasses. Just three of them had dismantled a Chitauri warship in about forty seconds. 

The Raptors didn't loose any time going on the attack. Well, at least they were visible now; he'd accomplished that much. 

Their mishmash of Warriors and Guardians had the advantage of numbers, but the Raptors were just so clearly a long-standing team, even more so than the Hunter Drones had been. The air was thick with darkforce blasts and streaks of light.

Vance was spending as much time dodging shots from the contingent on the ground as he was dodging Raptors. He barrelled into a pair who were ganging up on Selah, trying to take out her light gear, which was standing up to their darkforce projections almost as well as Starhawk's. 

"Sun Girl! You want to help me with a fly-by?" 

_"You got it, Justice!"_

Vance kept going, pretending to be preoccupied with not getting shredded by Angela's wing feathers. The Raptors hadn't forgotten about Selah, and it probably would have take less than the double light-beam to the face she dealt out to persuade one to chase after her. 

The Raptor stuck with her through a dive, gaining when she levelled out. That was when Vance came back around, hurling pure force at the Raptor, lining himself up. 

The shot wasn't long in coming. Vance veered out of its path and it hit the third part of the fly-by: Mark. 

Mark absorbed the hit, and suddenly there was a dragon and a lot of surprised swearing on the ground. The reflected blast Mark sent back engulfed the Raptor; Selah whooped triumphantly. 

"Head in the game," Vance reminded her.

_"Buzzkill,"_ she muttered, undeterred. 

Fraktur, flying low, smashed their Raptor to the ground, where it was promptly swarmed. Those still airborne sent down a neatly-coordinated barrage of suppressing fire into the mêlée.

Even with one down, four was still a lot to contain. Whatever targeting system the Raptors used, it didn't seem to require line of sight, meaning the hits could come from any one at any time. 

Worse, they refused to engage. Vance didn't think he'd ever seen aerial manoeuvres so intricate, let alone at that speed. Anyone who could keep up with them without colliding with anything became an obstacle to any distance attacks. Vance and Selah had managed to execute a successful manoeuvre, but the Raptors seemed to have realised that and adjusted their tactics accordingly. 

Starhawk was a streak of light, moving between Raptors too fast to keep track of. Vance was taking an increasing number of hits trying to get off shots of his own, and his shield wasn't going to take this kind of punishment forever. 

He needed to think. They needed a strategy beyond just holding the Raptors off, because the Raptors wouldn't get tired or run out of juice. 

Well, the most obvious characteristic of their strategy was the split-second timing. Mess with that, maybe they could start pinning them down. 

_Doable._ Vance veered upwards to avoid a shot from a Raptor blowing by on its way towards Chris. He was only partially successful. 

"Heads up, everybody. I'm going to try something." Straightening himself, Vance judged the distance and velocity and reached out. 

The Raptors were strong. Vance couldn't hold one for long, but that wasn't what he was trying to do. All he needed to do was hold them for a moment, just long enough to throw them off. 

Vance didn't see it coming. He felt the hit; his personal shielding held, but he felt it. And then everything disappeared.


	13. Chapter 13

_The_ New Wundagore III  
 _Rogue Intergalactic Orphan_  
 _Two days later_

_Richard Rider, it is critical that you pay attention at this time._

"Hnnrrurrgh."

_Richard Rider,_ Worldmind's familiar voice said, sounding alarmingly like his mother, _if I have to be up and doing, then so do you._

"Have I told you how much I hate you?" Rich moaned.

"Rich?" asked a different voice. The tone was split between worried and dangerous. Also familiar.

Rich frowned and squinted his eyes open. It was Nita; the Nita he'd lost, not the Nita he'd saved. Her skin was blue like the tropical sea, her hair the blonde of driftwood. Edgy concern was written all over her face.

_Oh, good. I was afraid you might have been permanently damaged,_ Worldmind continued.

"I'll show you damaged—"

Nita's brows furrowed. "Rich, who are you talking to?"

"Dammit, Worldmind, do you have to make me look crazy all the time?"

_You're the one who persists in speaking to me aloud,_ Worldmind pointed out.

Then everything came flooding back, bringing with it a sense of vertiginous panic. Rich sat bolt upright.

Nita caught him before he could fall over. 

"The tear," he gasped. "The tear. What happened—I was holding, we were holding! You should have left me there."

"Rich, would you calm down? Your heart!" 

Nita was gripping his shoulders tightly. Rich tried to think. Everything hurt. His _fingernails_ were in agony, fuck, his head was pounding.

"What happened? Where are we? How did you find me? Is it safe?"

"Whoa, get a grip or we'll have to tranq you again."

"Again?" Rich tried to rub his face with the hand that wasn't there anymore. 

"You were freaking out so bad when they brought you in, you gave yourself a heart attack. You've been sedated for the past two days."

_She's right,_ Worldmind chimed in. _Quasar came to relieve you at the tear, but you refused to stand down. When I stopped feeding you input and cut your power flow, you became acutely distressed. The panic and shock of severance almost caused your heart to fail._

"Quasar...?" 

Nita frowned. "They said he'd shown up, but I haven't seen him. I think he's doing whatever you were doing down on the planet."

"So the tear isn't open. There isn't another Fault."

"Not that I've heard of. I'm not really sure what's going on; I've barely been able to convince dog-boy to let me in to see you. If he tries to run another test on me, I'm going to turn him into an Asian delicacy. Here, if you won't lie down, scoot back against the wall." 

Rich was pathetically weak; but Nita, whichever Nita this was, was strong enough to arrange him with minimal assistance. "Cosmo's here?"

"What? No, dog-man, not dog. I only came to just before they brought you in. You scared the crap out of me, you creep; seeing your boyfriend on a crash cart is no way to wake up." 

"I have absolutely no idea what is going on." His voice came out sounding dead tired, or maybe just dead.

_You have been rescued by the New Warriors,_ Worldmind told him. 

"Okay, seriously, what the hell is going on?" 

"Robbie and—and Vance brought the team all the way out here looking for us, you and me and your brother."

That got Rich's attention. "Rob is here, too?" 

Nita gave him a crooked smile. "Hardly let you alone since you got in. We had to sedate him, too."

She jerked her chin at the next bed over. Rich blinked, finally noticing Rob sacked out in his Nova uniform. 

He reached out and brushed his gloved fingers over Nita's cheek. He wished he could actually feel her; he could do with something to make this all seem more real. 

"When did this happen?"

Self-conscious, Nita turned away. "I woke up like this. Rob warned me it could happen, but I didn't really take it seriously. What do you think?" She tried to make her tone light, but Rich was abruptly reminded of how this had gone at different times in the past. 

"Looks great to me, babe. Uh, Nita," he corrected himself at Nita's narrow, black-eyed glare. "A bit different from your...last first time. God, this is weird. Not you, I mean, just...the whole...world." Rich was starting to feel dizzy. _Stop babbling, idiot._

"Okay, don't get your tights in a twist. I suppose I shouldn't have expected the new blue me to rock you after everything Rob said. Plus the years of space adventures I guess I missed." 

"You've been spending a lot of time with Rob, huh?" 

Nita glanced over her shoulder again. "He was convinced he could find you, so I figured I'd hang around with your bucket brigade for a while." 

"How long..." Rich was almost afraid to ask.

"Have you been out here at the ass-end of nowhere playing human battery? No idea. But it's been over two years since the Fault closed." Nita had been starting to smile a little, but now she went serious on him again. "There's something else you should know."

Rich's stomach sank. "What?"

"We lost Vance." 

"God." Rich was so damn tired of losing people. And _Vance_... It had been years since they'd teamed up, but Vance kept his head and didn't take stupid risks. He'd been an Avenger, for cripe's sake. Rich knew better by now than to think that meant more than evening the odds a little out here, that if Vance was all they'd lost, they were lucky, but still... "God, where does it end?"

The way Nita was clenching her jaw made him fear for her teeth. She looked ready for a fight. Familiar as heartbreak. "I was still stuck in that stupid jar; it was a bunch of those Darkhawk rip-offs that were giving Chris such a hard time." 

Rich closed his eyes, absorbing the emotional impact, the familiar hard hit of loss that left him feeling sick and hollow. They didn't open. His eyelids felt like they'd been gravimetrically sealed.

Nita squeezed his hand. Rich frowned in concentration. It was a monumental effort to will away his uniform glove, but worth it to feel the warm strength of her touch. He squeezed back.

"You should rest."

Rich tried and failed to pry his eyes open. "Stay...stay with me?" he revived enough to ask, stuck already by a dream-like muddle of fear of being alone again and fear of losing her. Again.

"I'm not going anywhere, you lunkhead," Nita told him with her particular brand of fond exasperation.

It made Rich smile, although his lips barely moved, comforted enough by having one solid thing to hold onto to let the darkness pull him under.

 

Mark and Selah stuck close to each other after the fight over the ice bunker. Everything had happened so fast; two days later, it was only just starting to seem real.

It had been like that after his terrigenesis; even as awful and sudden as that change had been, it had all taken time to sink in. Which was how he'd ended up in a mob scene on a derailed subway car, being rescued by the New Warriors. 

Mark hadn't been tracking the airborne battle—he didn't really have to worry about taking stray hits, after all—so he hadn't seen what happened to Vance. He'd been focussed on trying to keep the Raptor Selah and Vance had set up for him earlier down and away from both the bunker and its friends when people had started shouting that Vance was gone. 

Scarlet Spider had gone berserk. He'd all but torn one Raptor apart with his bare hands, which Mark actually found more disturbing than the fact that spider-legs had started ripping out of his costume, the rest of it shredding away as he transformed into some kind of Spider-Hulk. Of course, Mark turned into a dragon on an increasingly frequent basis, so he had a different way of looking at these things. 

Silhouette, who had been held up fielding Rob Rider's questions about his brother, returned to the surface and started throwing up darkforce portals in front of the Raptors. Since they were all tossing around darkforce themselves, they'd managed to punch their way back out again; but it disrupted their formation and threw them off balance.

Not long after, someone who turned out to be Quasar streaked in out of the sky. The Raptors had cut their losses and run.

There had been no sign of Vance. 

The thing—the horrible thing was that Mark wasn't really surprised. He felt kind of gutted, but he'd been waiting for the other shoe to drop ever since this...superhero thing started. Mark had Googled these guys; he wasn't too young to remember Stamford and the Civil War. 

He remembered Vance warning him that it was going to be dangerous out here and he ought to tell his grandma in case he didn't come back. 

"We should be out there looking for him."

Selah was taking it differently. Mark had had to pull her off of Rob Rider, who had actually been a really good sport about trying to figure out what had happened up until the point when his brother had flatlined while they were pulling him out of that...thing down on the planet. 

"If there's a chance of finding him, we'll find him," Mark reassured her. After all, they'd found everyone else.

Selah's mouth twisted unhappily. "Don't talk like that. They just did something to him, that's all. Three of them hit him all at once: that has to be something. Angela saw it too. And Gamora said she'd probably know if he'd died, and Starhawk went off on all that stuff about cracks in the fabric of reality; and sure they're strange and kind of creepy, but they probably know what they're talking about."

"I'm not arguing, but you have to give people time. There's a lot going on." Mark had only made the mistake of saying it, like, once, but he thought she could do with being a little more concerned about the impending total collapse of reality, too. 

Selah sighed and flopped backwards on the bed. This was not how Mark had been imagining getting into Selah's bed, but it was better than having her stalk the ship all night keeping everyone else from getting any rest.

She'd missed her alarm yesterday morning and scrambled to put herself together for a run before she woke up enough to remember there was no one to run with. Mark, still bleary-eyed and just leaving his own room, had suddenly found himself with his arms full of angrily crying Selah. 

She'd been furious with herself for letting down their team leader and mentor, which made no sense. But then, Selah's response to learning her father was a super-villain had been to suit up and try taking him down personally. Mark, on the other hand, had lived through the death of both his parents and a lot of attendant grief counselling. 

This morning, Selah had made her course through the ship alone. When she'd finished, her expression had been bleakly determined. 

"Future Vance is still around," Mark offered, trying to reassure her.

Future Vance and his double posse of Guardians had shown up earlier today in response to the sudden torrent of updates Rob Rider had sent out to them on Spartax when everything started going down. 

"Future Vance and his Future Bros all say time is broken," Selah said moodily. "But at least he gives a damn."

Mark sighed. It seemed like Selah was just going to be pissed until everyone got moving again. Selah did not wait well. 

She also didn't like being side-lined, but the most she'd been able to do since the Raptors turned tail two days ago was light the interior of the bunker while Quasar took over whatever Rich Rider had been doing in there. Gamora and Sam's dad had very carefully moved him under the supervision of Jake Waffles, who had landed the ship so they didn't have to risk sending him through an unreliable teleporter or the darkforce dimension. 

At least Aracely had snapped out of whatever trance she'd been in. Mark had zero clue about why she'd zoned in the first place, but having her conscious had calmed Scarlet Spider down to the point where he was no long in danger of throttling people. 

Mark figured if he could keep Selah from flying off the deep end, that would be a productive use of his time. Given the way Darkhawk and Starhawk talked about the Raptors, he got the feeling they hadn't heard the last of them. _That_ would be a fight he and Selah could help with. 

 

By the dimness of the corridor she stepped out into, Nita supposed it was night. She'd been planning on catching some shut-eye no matter what time it was, but at least she wouldn't be interrupted on her way up to bed. 

Rich was doing a little better this time around. She'd left him talking with his brother, who could fill him in as well as anyone. The rabble of space-guests he'd had this afternoon hadn't quite managed to wake him. Nita had only recognised a few, but they all had that increasingly familiar expression like they were looking at a ghost. At least it hadn't been aimed at her.

Peter Quill had looked like he'd been punched in the stomach. The idea had been briefly appealing, but too much effort in the end. Neptune, she was tired. Nita could feel the strength in her limbs, but they ached right down to the bones. Whatever this transformation had done, it had been more than skin deep. 

Nita turned a corner and came face to face with the person she least wanted to see. _Well, crap._

"Faira."

Faira lowered her eyes respectfully. "Your Highness." 

Ugh, she had to do this _now_ , didn't she? Nita suppressed a sigh. "Your service has been exemplary. When I see my cousin, I will let him know of the lengths you went to restore my health."

"You honour me, Highness," Faira replied, as though she'd rather bite out her tongue.

"I am in your debt," Nita said in exactly the same tone.

A lot of Atlanteans would have problems with the clone thing, but the truth was that she and Faira had just always rubbed each other the wrong way. Faira had been in training for the Royal Guard when Nita started spending time with Namor in Atlantis. They were about the same age, with similar interests; kind of predictably, they had ended up competing for a lot of the same attention. Except that Nita was this pale, alien princess who had dropped in out of nowhere, and Faira was supposed to defer to her. Nita supposed it had made her easy to resent. 

"Do you have need of anything?" Faira asked stiffly. 

Nita sighed. "Just sleep." It must have been almost morning if Faira was up and about, but Nita was beat. 

There was a brief pause. "Sleep well." 

Nita froze in mid-yawn. O-okay; but she was way too tired to figure _that_ out. She was going to need more evidence before she believed Faira had decided to stop being a complete bitch. 

Limiting herself to an acknowledging nod, Nita started off again along the corridor. She collapsed into the bed someone had made up for her. Her last thought before sleep claimed her was that the future was even stranger with people she knew in it.


	14. Chapter 14

_The_ New Wundagore III  
 _Rogue Intergalactic Orphan_

Sam felt really bad for being happy, but he was _really happy_. He was eating breakfast with his father. And sure, it was mostly alien breakfast, and their table companions were kind of alarming; but they were good people. Sam was getting a sense about these things.

"I still can't believe you had a fight and didn't invite us," Headhunter Xaew complained through his slightly tentacle-like beard. Xaew was bald and squat and looked kind of like a red walrus.

All the gladiators had names like that. There was Headhunter Xaew, and Goronto the Mace, and Ywaii the Mangler, who was like his dad's best friend. They were also all really buff and half of them had raided the _Wundagore_ 's stores and were now dressed in what was more or less black spandex, left unused since the High Evolutionary's massacre of his New Men. The change in wardrobe made it bizarrely like hanging out with a more bloodthirsty version of the Avengers.

Sam's dad rolled his eyes. "For the last time, it was an aerial fight. Besides, it's cold as—uh, space out there and only the Fang's dressed for it." He jerked his thumb at a felinoid alien whose thick, white fur was furrowed with scars. 

The Fang, whose real name was a sort of growling noise at the back of his throat, mrowled disdainfully. "Furless wimps."

A burly bird-lady passing by bent down to inspect Sam critically. "Are all Xandarian chicks this puny, or only the half-breeds?"

Sam, who had been squinting hostilely back in preparation for telling her to buzz off, scrunched up his face. "What now?" 

His dad smacked himself in the forehead. Sam turned to look at him. "Dad?" 

Everyone was watching them now, but Sam had no attention to spare for anyone except his father. Jesse Alexander—Alexander, Xandar? no way—was wearing an unhappy expression. He shot a flat look just shy of a glare at Hraak the Bonecrusher before turning back to Sam. 

"Dad?" 

Sam's dad cleared his throat. "Uh, give us a minute."

He stood up, clapping Sam on the shoulder. Sam recognised that tone. That tone had preceded a lot of unfulfilled promises and not going back to work. Sam followed his dad out of the cafeteria (a cafeteria was kind of a disappointingly boring thing to find on a spaceship, but Sam supposed everyone had to eat) and into one of the pretty much endless supply of unused rooms. 

"Dad." Sam turned to face him, arms crossed. "I have to know."

His dad rubbed his face. He was looking a lot more like Sam's dad than he had when Sam first saw him, but mom was almost definitely going to insist that he start shaving again.

"Well. Yeah." Sam's stomach did a backflip. "I was born on Xandar. Back when it still existed." He grimaced.

Sam had thought he'd been prepared for it, but nope, still a lot to take in. "So I _am_ half-alien?" 

"Fifth-generation Nova. You were born to it, son." Sam's dad beamed proudly at him. 

Sam shook his head like that would settle his thoughts the way it settled his helmet. "The High Evolutionary said something when we went up against him, but I was kind of busy with other stuff. And, I mean, you'd never said anything. All those Nova stories and green ladies and _talking raccoons_ showing up in my life and nobody mentioned my dad is _actually from_ space?"

His dad scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. "I mean, you already thought I was nuts. If I'd told you I was an alien, you'd have called the loony bin."

"...Okay, true." Sam had mostly gotten over being guilty for not believing his dad's stories, because. Seriously. He didn't believe his own life anymore half the time. There was a lot for him to live down. Then something else occurred to him. "Wait, does mom know? Wait, mom's not an alien too, is she?" 

"Heh, no. She likes the irony of _me_ being the illegal. Your mom's good at keeping secrets." 

"Better than you," Sam couldn't help but say. 

"You've always been a mean kid, you know."

Sam grinned. "It's true, though." 

"Hey!" his dad protested. "I can be sneaky. You have yet to see me attempt to sneak."

"Uh-huh," Sam responded sceptically, but felt that same ebullient warmth glowing in the pit of his stomach. They were solid, even out here, weirdness and E.T.-ness and all.

"So, what's on the agenda for today?" his dad asked. 

"Everyone's meeting in a bit to get the Guardians of the Galaxy up to speed. And the rest of us, I guess, if Rob Rider's finally decided he knows what happened to Vance. Maybe his brother's feeling better today." If Sam seemed bitter at all about any of that, well, Vance and the New Warriors had grown on him. Even knowing from the inside exactly how Rob felt dealing with this stuff with his brother, it was really hard not to resent his distraction just a little bit. 

Sam's dad nodded. "You get enough to eat? I know some of those faces in there are enough to put you off your feed, but you gotta keep your strength up." 

"Nah, I like them."

His dad looked at him like _he_ was thinking of calling the loony bin, but it reassured Sam to know that these rough, scary, smelly fighters had had his dad's back all the time he'd been gone. He'd spent so much time worried about how his dad was out here alone and in danger, unable to find him or even let him know he was looking, that relief even after the fact made him feel a little better.

Sam's dad clapped him on the back, leaving his hand there as they made their way through the unnecessarily complicated innards of the big ship, and that was even better. With his dad beside him, Sam had no doubt that they could do the impossible, because just being here was proof that they already had.

 

It was nothing short of a mob that gathered in what looked more like a laboratory than a conference room. The full assemblage of both teams of Guardians of the Galaxy were present, as well as the remaining New Warriors and, of course, representatives from the Nova Corps. Peter Quill had managed to outrun bureaucratic pursuit from his responsibilities on Spartax, although they had threatened to follow at their own pace.

Gamora was sitting with Angela and the rest of the present Guardians, exchanging tales of their recent adventures with Jack Flag. Nearby, the future Guardians were continuing a similar, if slightly more volatile, reunion. Apparently half of them didn't remember Nikki the walking fire hazard, which was more evidence of the kinds of alarming flux Quill had reported experiencing in the future. Gamora might not technically require oxygen anymore, but sharing a spaceship with someone who was constantly on fire was still a level of risk she could do without. 

The New Warriors were huddled across the room, still subdued by the loss of their leader. Looking at them, it wasn't immediately apparent who would step forward to replace him. Gamora was somewhat fond of Silhouette; she had a fighter's spirit and a strong will, but the best fighter was not always the best leader. A leader could outsource combat and even strategy to a certain degree, but there were interpersonal elements that were integral to group cohesion; the boy Justice had had that.

The team Gamora was seeing now was scattered. Faira and the recovered and now revived Namorita could have been twins except for the colour of their hair; but whenever their gazes met, equally identical expressions of dislike crossed their features. Faira was sitting apart, while Namorita was flanked by Speedball and Silhouette, leaving the more junior members of the team on their own. Darkhawk was attempting to remain inconspicuous by lurking in the background and not wearing his armour.

Assisting with the Novas' relief work had familiarised Gamora with Richard's recruits. He and his brother were still missing from the assemblage; but Jesse and his son were here, along with Centurion Philo. He'd elected to bring along Irani Rael, a Rigellian, as well as the synthorganic Qubit, who floated in mid-air completely covered by his helmet; logical choices. The others were either manning their own ship or standing watch over Quasar at the tear.

There was movement in the doorway. Richard Rider hung there for a moment, visibly hesitating; he did not look good. He looked infinitely better than he had when Gamora had lifted him from that hateful structure and he'd immediately done his contrary best to die on them all; but while the healing abilities of the Xandarian Worldmind and the technology here had improved his colour, nothing but time could repair his worn and wasted appearance. 

People turned and stopped talking when they noticed him standing there. Beside her, Angela's scrutiny became palpably intense. It was more than a little like being in a room with a ghost, and not just because he was now pale even for a human. There was a newly distant quality to his eyes that he seemed to be having difficulty looking past. 

"Geez, why hasn't he gotten the arm fixed yet?" Rocket asked.

" _Rocket_ ," Quill hissed. It never failed to amaze Gamora the kind of things that Earthers took offence at. "You can't just _say_ things like that; what the hell? Rich is clearly in no state to have an entire limb plugged back into his nervous system."

"I am Groot."

" _Thank you_. Rich, man, it's good to see you up. And, you know, alive." Quill pulled him into a hug, thumping him on the back with manic enthusiasm before prattling on in his typical inconsistent fashion. "But you know, Rocket's got a point; we were frigging stupid back in the Cancerverse. Thanos punched a hole through my chest and I came back intact. If we'd just let you bleed out, you might have showed up with two arms again. Or at least not bleeding," he allowed.

"It's good to be back. I guess things didn't quite work out like we planned," Rider said.

"Yeah, well, first time for everything," Quill said lightly, prompting a laugh. Humans.

This laboratory had obviously been arranged for group presentation and collaboration, so there was room for everyone around the central display except for Groot, who had had another growth spurt on Spartax, and the New Warriors' Scarlet Spider, who seemed to prefer perching high on a wall. He had an excellent command of the door; that alone would have prompted Gamora to keep an eye on him, but the waves of murderous tension he was giving off also bore watching. He had not been easy to take down after the Raptors retreated.

Robert Rider, lurking behind his brother, had followed him inside. He gave every indication of never intending to let Richard out of his sight again, but for now his attention was diverted to a consultation with Starhawk and Jake Waffles over the display controls. 

This was the arrival everyone had been waiting for. Peter Quill had been admitted to see Richard Rider on his arrival, but otherwise Rider's visitors as he slipped in and out of awareness had been limited. Everyone was staring at him like he was the fifth coming of Adam Warlock. Even Kitty Pryde was watching him with curiosity.

"Well, this is awfully creepy," Rider broke the quiet that had fallen. "I don't think any of you have ever been this quiet before in your lives." 

"In their heads, they are very noisy," that odd child, Hummingbird, volunteered from her perch atop one of Groot's limbs. 

"Uh, yeah, okay." Richard frowned at her as though trying to remember something. "Do I know you?"

"I was listening to the voice you were listening to for a while," she said.

"Hummingbird started picking up on the Worldmind's transmission to you as soon as she came aboard our ship," Robert Rider elucidated. "Not that we realised that was what was happening. That was what I couldn't figure out: the Worldmind seemed to be processing, but I couldn't get it to respond to me. All its computational power was occupied with making the calculations for containing the tear and regulating power flow to Rich. Worldmind?" 

_"That is correct, Centurion Rider."_ The head of a female Kree centurion appeared projected over the central holographic display. She sounded distantly familiar, although the avatar Gamora remembered hearing over coms during the Annihilation War had been male. 

The avatar's eyes fixed on Gamora and the light in them flared. Gamora stared back, not about to be intimidated by a computer.

"So...everything's back up and running? The Nova Corps, everything?" Peter Quill asked hopefully. 

"Well," Richard Rider demurred, "that depends on how long Quasar can hold the fort before I need to spell him."

"I'm not letting you go back in there," his brother snapped.

Rider shot him a stubborn, rebellious look Gamora was very familiar with. "I'll be fine. It will be better now that there are two of us."

"But—"

"You remember the Fault, Rob. We can't let that happen again."

Robert Rider subsided with some show if ill-grace. Rocket cleared his throat.

"Um, would one of you mind telling the rest of us what the flark is actually going on already?" 

"I have been working, with assistance from various of our number, to combine both vessels' technology with my own resources and create a model of the damage in this region of space," Starhawk said, his hands moving over the controls. 

The Worldmind's avatar was replaced by what Gamora identified after moment's bewilderment as a representation of the local space around the orphaned planet. It was overlain with a network of glowing cracks, thickest on the planet's surface, that blocked most of the otherwise featureless region. 

"The fidelity on this Earth-made heap of junk is for shit," Rocket groused. "We should have done this on our ship."

"That time Stark spent with us was really bad for your vocabulary," Quill remarked.

Martinex T'Naga leaned in to inspect the projection more closely. T'Naga was one of the group of Astro's future Guardians who had washed up on this rock along with Rider. His body was composed of some sort of translucent substance that caught and reflected the ship's lights and the holographic display. 

"I don't think it's the tek," he said after a moment. He expanded a section of the map for everyone to see. "I think it's the density of stress-damage on the fabric of reality."

What had appeared to be less than optimum resolution was revealed to be more flaws, everywhere, growing progressively smaller and finer in fractal profusion. The whole room stared in horror at the potential for catastrophe he was showing them. 

"Oh my god. That's—that's—how can you _fix_ that?" Quill asked, aghast.

"Just goes to show, not _every_ universe-shattering event happens on Earth. Sometimes they're just hiding out there in the middle of nowhere where no one'll ever see it coming," Speedball said with a heavy undertow of sarcasm. 

"Yeah. Like an aneurysm," Kitty Pryde agreed sourly from where she sat next to Quill. 

"Wait, but then wouldn't we be surrounded by these fissures right now?" Jack Flag asked.

Nikki rolled her eyes. "Duh." 

Quill frowned around the room, as though expecting hideous tentacles to start bursting out of gaps in reality. This was, sadly, not out of the realm of possibility in this situation. "I mean, everything _looks_ fine."

"That's just your brain filling in the gaps," Robert Rider insisted. 

Beside him, Silhouette was shaking her head. "But—I mean, how does that—" she gestured at the map, "—happen?"

"That's been our question for a while, too," Charlie-27 rumbled.

Quill grimaced. "Space-time has been cracking apart at the seams since the Annihilation War. The Fault didn't help any."

"In fact, sealing the Fault may have made things worse," Jake Waffles said thoughtfully.

"Not that the alternative would have been an improvement," Gamora felt compelled to point out. 

"So, is that what happened to Justice?" asked the enthusiastically-named Sun Girl. "There's stuff on the other side of these things, right? That's where Nova and the extra Guardians came from, isn't it?" 

"Who you calling an extra, glowstick?" Nikki snarled, the tips of her hair flaring. 

"Settle, Nikki," Major Astro told her. 

"I'll settle you, dinkwaft," she snapped back. 

"I'll flarking settle you both," Rocket snarled. "What, is repartee a lost art in the future? If you're going to bicker, at least put some effort into it."

"I am Groot." 

Quill set his thumb and forefinger between his lips and let loose a piercing whistle. "If I could walk us back to the last relevant point: do we know what is on the opposite side of these things, and can they swallow people?"

"Considering the Nova Prime and these others came out of one, it's not unreasonable to posit that a person could pass through some of the tears," Centurion Rael spoke for the first time. "Preliminary analysis of various orbital scans indicates a burst of energy coinciding with Justice's disappearance but not matching the signatures from anyone else in the fight. I'd say it's likely he transited through. Where to is another question." 

"We're working on it," Robert Rider assured them. 

"Okay, but can they swallow you randomly?" Sam Alexander asked a little nervously.

"There are no significant fissures at our present location," Starhawk answered. "However, it would perhaps be prudent not to roam freely across the surface of the planet. I have already recommended against use of ships' transmats, but we should also avoid any other high-energy discharges."

The child turned slightly green. 

"So, what about all of that?" Geena Drake gestured at the display, lit brightly with impending disaster. "How do we fix it?" 

Silence stretched around her question. 

"Oh," she said in a small voice.

"We can contain the tear for now. Between the Quantum Bands and the Nova Force, Quasar and I can buy us time to figure something out," Rider said firmly.

"This is all hands of deck if anything ever was," Philo agreed. "Eight by eight doesn't even begin to cover it."

"We've got to reach out," Quill said decisively. "Everybody pulled together during the Fault crisis."

"Reach out to who?" Drax asked. "The Xandarians are gone; the Skrulls are a shambles even if we wanted their help, and the Kree have been in disarray since Hala. There's no one left but the Shi'ar."

"What happened to Hala?" Rider asked.

Quill cast a baleful look at Drax, who only shrugged. Quill made a face, then turned back to answer Rider.

"Right. So, my dad kind up blew it up."

"Oh my god." 

"Yeah, he's a toad. Which is part of the reason why I am now President of the Spartoi Empire." 

The stunned expression on Rider's face grew positively bug-eyed, and then he collapsed into helpless guffaws. His sides shook with the force of his mirth, and tears leaked from the corners of his eyes. After a minute, Quill started to look slightly insulted. Kitty started snickering. 

Rider's gales of breathless laughter continued for so long that his brother leaned in to cluck worriedly over him. Rider waved him away, wiping at his face. 

"Oh, man. President of the Empire. If you ever get tired of guarding the galaxy, you've got a future in stand-up."

Kitty was trying to muffle her own giggles behind her hand. Quill gave her a betrayed look. 

"No, they actually elected him president," Drax explained. "Hard as that is to believe."

Rider stared a Quill. He cleared his throat. "Wow. Sorry."

Quill shrugged easily. "That's okay; I'm getting used to it. I do miss the seedy bars sometimes, though."

"Yeah, you really gave up a lot," Kitty said dryly. 

"I think I've managed to hold on to the important things." 

Quill smiled at her, foolishly besotted. Off to one side, Rocket made retching noises. Quill kicked him, which was rather less than dignified considering how high he had to get his foot to make contact. 

"I have been studying the problem longer than any of you, and I do not believe we currently have the resources that would be required to effect a permanent solution," Starhawk said, evidently tiring of their squabbling. "If the damage extends across the universe, as I believe it may, the scale of power necessary may be impossible to achieve."

Rocket had managed to compose himself again. "It would definitely take something cosmic, which we ain't got. Unless our recently-upgraded cosmic ladies feel like they're that kind of cosmic," he added hopefully.

Kitty shook her head. "Not me. I haven't explored everything the mirror did to me, but I'm pretty sure it doesn't go as far as rewriting reality. Gamora?"

Gamora considered. "No. The Black Vortex worked upon our own potential; that power and the desire for it were never in my nature." She brooded unhappily on Thanos, whose dark mind did harbour such desires. Allowing him to pursue unhindered whatever mad ends he might conceive rankled, but what they had stumbled on here was clearly more urgent. 

"Too bad we don't have another cosmic cube." Rocket sighed.

"We'd need a cosmic cube _and_ someone who knows how to use it," Drax needled him. He did, however, have a point.

"That is not a list of people with reliable motivations," said Quill. 

Rider made a face. "To put it mildly."

"Power of that magnitude possesses a will of its own," Starhawk pronounced darkly. "To balance it requires a strong mind and a strong heart as well as deep knowledge of the workings of the universe." 

 

The meeting broke up after a little more spit-balling of ideas. If it took all of the Nova Force just to keep this thing from busting loose, the amount of power it would take to seal every crack in this region, not to mention the rest of the universe, was mind-blowing.

Rich suppressed a groan as he levered himself out of his seat. If he was quiet enough, he might be able to sneak out while Rob was preoccupied with the space-geeks. Not that is wasn't great to see—well, anybody again, and especially his brother; but the constant smothering attention was getting old kind of fast. 

"Hey, welcome back to the land of the living." 

"Robbie, it's good to see you," Rich said, steering them away from the group at the holoprojector. 

"Wish I could say the same, but you look _terrible_."

Anyone who'd spent much time with Robbie as a kid was pretty familiar with his grin, and this one looked forced. There were dark circles under his eyes, too. The scars on his face had faded a little, but only a little. 

They reached the door just as Spider-Somebody, Rich had never caught his name, and he hadn't said a word through the entire meeting, landed in front of it. They narrowly avoided a collision, which was a blessing given what happened when anything collided with Robbie.

"Watch where you're going," the guy snarled, shouldering his way out into the corridor. 

"What's his problem?" Rich asked, watching him stalk off in an almost visible cloud of bad temper. At least he wasn't walking on eggshells like everyone else.

"Vance," Robbie replied.

"Vance isn't even here."

"Exactly. He and Vance are— _o-oh_ ," Robbie broke off, suddenly looking apprehensive.

Rich looked at him. "What's that supposed to—wait, really? Huh." 

"You're not going to be funny about this, are you?"

Rich snorted. "Please. Try spending as much time out here as I have. I've stopped even trying to _label_ the things I've seen. Besides, since when have I ever been funny?"

"Haha, never. That's my schtick." Robbie's smile was more genuine this time. "Don't worry about Scarlet Spider; he's always like that. Hey, speaking of romance, how are you and Nita getting along?"

Rich hedged. "What did she tell you? I saw you guys talking earlier."

"Bupkiss." Robbie sighed. 

Rich had to smile a little at his apparent dejection. "Nothing's going on, really. We were still getting to know each other again when I went through the Fault. There's so much history between us that never happened for her; I don't know what to do with it all." 

And then there was Gamora. Rich hadn't even know what to do with _that_ while it was happening; he'd just tried to hang on for the ride. The Guardians had talked around some kind of transformation, but anyone could see she had changed from the angry, directionless killer he'd sent to Peter Quill; and there was more to it than stars glinting in her shadow or lambent yellow eyes.

"She's not the same as the person I left; and I'm not the same person I was when I went, let alone the guy she remembers."

"Yeah," Robbie's tone was subdued, which Rich was still getting used to. "So much has happened. It's hard to decide what to tell her, what she's better off not knowing." 

Rich refrained from mentioning that there was a lot of personal history Robbie had never filled _him_ in on. Rich wasn't exactly volunteering war stories himself. 

"Right now, honestly, just walking around somewhere with the lights on is a big adjustment. And they haven't even let me start on solid food yet," Rich said in an effort to turn the subject onto lighter matters. 

"You _have_ been through a lot recently. Do you need to sit down or something?" Robbie asked suddenly solicitous. 

"No," Rich replied automatically, although on second thought his knees were treacherously weak. The Worldmind was accelerating his recovery, and in the meantime she was helping him compensate for the muscle atrophy the same way she augmented his reflexes and precision with the Nova Force in combat, which meant he hadn't had to spend a week re-learning how to walk. "Well, let's get a little further from my brother first. And the infirmary."

"Gotcha." Robbie winked at him. "We'll go to the kitchen. You can at least smell food; but no caffeine on doctor's orders."

Rich made an indecent sound. " _Coffee_. Do you know how long it's been since I've had coffee?"

"At least one more week," Robbie said sternly. "No stimulants for heart attack patients." 

Rich drew the line at drawing on the Nova Force to help him walk, but the idea was becoming seriously tempting by the time they reached the kitchen. The power was buzzing under his skin with an immediacy he hadn't felt since right after the fall of Xandar. He didn't feel like he was in danger of losing control this time; it was more like months of continuously channelling the Nova Force had made it into as natural a part of himself as his lost arm. Rich _really_ wasn't used to the arm yet. He felt odd and off-balance, and vaguely like if he _had_ to lose a limb, he'd have preferred his off-hand. 

"Ugh, I feel so old," Rich complained as he lowered himself carefully into a chair. 

"I hate to break it to you, bucket-head, but you've been old since I met you," Robbie told him. 

"Please, you were just barely out of puberty; everyone seemed old to you. You thought X-Factor were senior citizens."

While Robbie pretended to huff at that, Rich took a piece of fruit from the bowl on the table and examined it. It was probably healthy enough that he wouldn't get into trouble; just as well he didn't have enough energy to ferret out the junk food that was probably stashed somewhere in the cupboards. Blue blazes, he was hungry. 

The fruit was alien: somebody must have been doing some shopping. Probably Vance, or maybe that new Nova kid Rich _still_ hadn't gotten to meet properly yet. He'd been ducking the rest of the Corps, too, delaying the inevitable.

From the expression on Robbie's face, looking at the fruit, it had probably been Vance. So much for his big space adventure. Rich took a bite. He needed to pester the Worldmind soon for more detail on the bullet points of what the techies had figured out about the tears and Vance's disappearance. They had probably better fish him out before sealing everything back up.

"Rich! There you are."

Rich suppressed a groan, but not the urge to hide his face in his hand. Robbie snickered unhelpfully.

"Hi, Rob," he said brightly. "What's up?"

"Hi," Rob replied distractedly, already closing in on Rich. "Rich, are you okay? You shouldn't have walked this far; next time you're hungry, ask and I'll bring you something."

Rob tried to pry Rich's face out of his palm, and Rich elbowed him. "Will you calm down?"

"You really should lie down." Rob frowned, apparently weighing the benefits of more enforced bed rest against the rigors of the trek back down to the infirmary. 

"The Worldmind is always monitoring me; she'll let me know if I'm getting myself into trouble."

"That's actually kind of creepy," Robbie said.

Rich shrugged. "We've been sharing headspace for a long time." 

Actually, as much as renewed awareness of his body sometimes overwhelmed him with sensory input since he woke up, it seemed almost empty inside his head without the Worldmind's constant stream of calculations pouring in. It was like when you moved and suddenly the noise from the busy intersection outside your window was gone. But Rich was just as glad to have the Worldmind safely installed in the _Resolute Duty_ 's computer banks, where neither of them was in danger of going insane. He was a little too well conditioned to automatically following her instructions right now for that to be altogether safe.

"Seriously, Rob, I can look after myself. You need to focus on figuring out a way to fix this mess."

"I don't know..." 

Rich could sense him weakening. 

"I'll take it easy," he promised. "There are beds up here, right? It'll be more comfortable than the infirmary. And more private."

"Fine. But you had better actually rest."

"Yes, mom." Rich rolled his eyes. 

Truthfully, he _was_ tired. But every time he tried to sleep, he jerked awake again in a panic. Maybe he just needed to be a little better grounded in reality before his subconscious stopped freaking out. Rich was already feeling more human again after breakfast and a shower. God, a shower had felt like heaven. _There_ was one thing you never got enough out here. If he just took it one thing at a time, he'd be _fine_ , he told himself.

"Hey, I wrote to mom and dad for you to let them know that you're _still alive_ , and I didn't even mention the missing limb or the heart attacks, so you've got until you see them to fix your arm or explain it yourself."

Rob sure knew how to turn up the guilt; little brothers were such a pain in the ass. As if to prove the point, he kept going.

"When you're feeling better, you can send them a message," he continued heartlessly. 

Rich held his hands—hand, dammit—up in surrender. "All right, all right, I get the idea."

Rob crossed his arms. "Just remember that you are absolutely not allowed to get yourself killed out here before you see our parents again."

 

Chris lingered in a corner while the room emptied. He had bit his tongue during the conference, this not really being his sort of space-problem. He was torn; right now Starhawk looked like his best chance to get a leg up on Talon, but everyone else seemed willing to let the Fraternity of Raptors go for now in favour of focussing on the impossible task of gluing reality back together. Chris wasn't adding anything here; he'd be doing a lot more good keeping Talon's people busy somewhere far away, especially if Star-Lord was going to call in the _Shi'ar_ , for god's sake. 

There was still the chance that the Raptors would regroup and come back, though, and Chris wanted another crack at Starhawk before he geared off. He'd been waiting for Star-Lord's posse to leave before drawing attention to himself. It rankled, but being on several galaxies' Most Wanted lists was forcing him to practice prudence. 

By the time the revered Emperor of Spartax had found his way out, Starhawk had been approached by some of the Novas. That was okay; the Nova Corps had taken Rich's word on Chris's innocence and shown no signs of second thoughts when they'd joined up with the New Warriors, although Chris had been cautious.

"—requested that I ask you to clarify what you meant if I had the opportunity. Darkhawk," Irani Rael, the Rigellian Nova, greeted him when he walked over. "Good; your input might also be helpful in this matter."

"What are we talking about?" Chris asked. 

"In our first encounter, I observed that the Fraternity of Raptors had recruited some of its designates from the Nova Corps," Starhawk said.

"Designates are the poor suckers who pick up the amulets." Chris tapped his own through his shirt. "The Raptors use them like batteries, so they can manifest in this dimension."

From the look on her face, the obvious question had already occurred to Irani. "So it is the Raptor who is in control?"

"Usually," Chris said, with a glance aside at Starhawk. "Apparently there's some kind of software glitch between the human brain and the crystal. Talon told me the Raptors were shut down thousands of years ago; humans were still herding goats. The amulets weren't designed with us in mind." 

Starhawk was staring at him with an unreadable intensity. She gave Chris the _creeps_. 

"Then how can you tell who the designates are?" Qubit the floating helmet asked. 

"I am one who knows," said Starhawk.

"That is such a load of crap," Chris said. "They have an information source called the Datasong."

Future-lady didn't like _that_. Tough luck. Chris folded his arms and cocked his head expectantly. 

"Darkhawk is correct," Starhawk said stiffly. "The Fraternity of Raptors do more than share information: they are linked. Little is hidden from the Datasong; that is why I chose to remain here, where the fragmentation of reality disrupts it, for so long. But my own access to it is correspondingly limited in this region."

Irani processed that. Rigellians were like Vulcans, but with big heads instead of pointed ears.

"In that case, were you able to learn anything about the Raptors' current designates during the recent confrontations?" she asked. 

"It does not matter. Even if your friend is one of them, the transformation is permanent. I am sorry."

"That's not entirely true," Chris said. "I can banish them."

Starhawk looked at him sharply. "That is not possible at—" Her jaw clapped shut abruptly. She scrutinised him with renewed consideration. 

"What? What is it?" Chris asked.

Starhawk shook her head. "It is not for me to say."

"Bullshit. You know something, lady, and I am sick of you Raptor jerks and your games."

Starhawk drew herself up, blank white eyes seeming to flare, and it was so weird that she used light instead of the darkforce.

"I can say what I have said before: two of the designates were once of your number, a Xandarian and a Shi'ar."

"And the rest?" Qubit asked anxiously.

"A Skrull, Shi'ar subject races," Starhawk replied indifferently. "All recent additions." 

Irani turned to Chris. "Were you able to perceive anything, Darkhawk? You appear to possess a particular insight into the Raptor/host relationship."

Chris coughed awkwardly into his fist. "I've had some experiences, yeah; but not being totally compatible with the amulet means I have trouble understanding the Datasong, too. It's hard to listen to it without letting the Raptor take over." 

Qubit looked between them. "Then you are not human as well, Starhawk?"

"I am something else; I am one who knows."

Chris rolled his eyes. "The last Raptor, whatever _that's_ supposed to mean."

"One last thing," Irani said. "You said the Raptors could be banished and the hosts restored to control; how?"

"I can stuff them back into their amulets. But I have to get close; really close."

Irani nodded. "Thank you both. We will share what you have told us with the others. May we call upon you both again in the future?"

"Uh, sure," Chris said.

"I will remain in this time period until the present crisis has been resolved," Starhawk said.

Qubit bobbed in the air. "My memory banks have never recorded anything quite like you; I hope we can spend more time together."

Irani looked at him sideways, but Starhawk seemed unperturbed.

 

_Elsewhere_

Vance came to with his head pounding, feeling nauseous. He didn't really feel like opening his eyes, but the nagging of his better sense told him he probably ought to. 

Groaning, he cracked his eyes open; rays of searing fire instantly pierced his brain. His face felt hot and he wanted nothing more than a pillow to hide his head under and block out the grating onslaught of birdsong.

He had absolutely no idea what was going on, but it seemed vaguely wrong.

Vance was lying on what felt like grass. He was in costume; had he been doing something? The state he was in, he'd have noticed anything noisy enough to need a superhero by now. 

He should move. He really should. Even if nothing was going on, he couldn't just lie...wherever all day.

A shadow fell over him. Moving very slowly, Vance brought a hand up to shield his eyes and tried again. 

"Hey, there. Are you all right?"

Vance made a pained sound at the back of his throat at the noise and tried to force his eyes to focus. Someone was leaning over him, looking at the spectacle he no doubt presented.

"Here, let me help you up," the guy offered.

Vance grasped the hand he extended and allowed himself to be pulled to his feet. A wave of dizziness overtook him, and he found himself retching helplessly onto someone's lovingly-maintained emerald green lawn. 

"Hangover, huh? Well, you wouldn't find me in a get-up like that sober," the man said genially. 

Vance wiped his mouth with the back of his glove and straightened gingerly. These symptoms were worryingly familiar, and not from being hung-over. 

"Actually, I think I have a concussion," he said. 

That meant no telekinesis; Vance had learned that lesson last time. If there was a fight, he was out of it now. 

"Either way, you could use some aspirin and a lie-down."

They started walking slowly down a thankfully even sidewalk. Vance's good Samaritan was a tall, blond-haired, blue-eyed fellow, strong and with blindingly white teeth. All in all, he looked like a Tommy Hilfiger ad. 

This entire place looked like a magazine or a movie set. The yards, the houses...Vance squinted to bring a street sign into focus.

"...What am I doing in Queens?"

Something was clearly wrong, but since simultaneously walking in a straight line and not puking were stressing the limits of his ability to multi-task right now, that was going to have to wait. Vance wanted sickly to sit down somewhere in the dark and make his head stop hurting enough to string two coherent thoughts together.

The guy who'd found him's name was Michael. He had a house a couple blocks over, where he kindly made the first half of Vance's wish come true. They came through the back door into a large, modern kitchen. Michael left the lights off and dropped the blinds over the sink, dimming the room still further. He produced a glass of cold water and a bowl, setting them in front of Vance, who had slid himself onto a stool at the kitchen island because it involved the least amount of moving. 

Vance seized upon the water gratefully to rinse out his mouth. All he'd managed to bring up before was coffee-flavoured bile, but that was a taste that lingered. He hadn't eaten anything since—since—

Vance almost dropped the glass as he suddenly remembered why it made absolutely no sense for him to be in Forest Hills Gardens. Michael turned to empty air and called, "Honey, I'm home! And look what I found."

A familiar woman materialised out of thin air. She was wearing a purple brocade dress that left her shoulders bare and draped to pool yards of hem incongruously on the crisp slate tiles. Wheat-blonde hair tumbled in waves down her back, and her eyes glowed redly. Because this made more sense than anything else had since he'd opened his eyes, Vance didn't think she was a concussion symptom.

"Carina." It came out as a groan. Vance turned to look at the still genially smiling man. Michael _Korvac_. Oh, _shit_. "Well, I guess you found him."

Korvac's grin widened. "Vance Astro. Although I suppose you're still calling yourself Astrovik. Or do you prefer Justice? We _do_ keep running into each other." 

Vance looked from one cosmic entity to the other and took another drink of water. He supposed it didn't really matter that he couldn't use his telekinesis without scrambling his brains; Korvac was in the habit of flattening whole teams of Avengers. 

"Is this really Earth?" he asked. 

If there was one hole in reality on that planet they'd found Rich on, there could well be others; Starhawk had said something like that. So he might be in Queens, or he might not. Actually being in Queens was a big problem, under the circumstances. Not being in Queens...was a problem for other reasons, but hopefully just for him.

"No," Carina said. "When my path crossed Michael's again, I was prepared and managed to bring him here, to a dimension where his powers are diminished enough that he can be contained."

"I created this place," Korvac's off-hand gesture indicated the idyllic suburb beyond the somewhat prosaic kitchen. "It's not bad, as far as prisons go, but somewhat lonely. My dear wife rarely condescends to keep me company."

"Gee, I can't think why that would be."

Korvac's expression grew reproachful. "In the future, you would do well to mind your tone; this once we'll put it down to the brain trauma. But really, this dimension is very restricting. There is little point to creating a well-ordered universe if no one lives in it."

Vance turned to Carina. "Can you send me back to where I came from? The universe is—well, the phrase I remember hearing is 'catastrophic structural failure'." Vance remembered, although incompletely, gearing up for a fight. He remembered very vividly how they'd found Rich. He remembered being worried for Kaine, too, but not why. _Please let him be all right._ "I really need to get back to my team. In fact, we could really use your help." 

"You're not going anywhere, little hero," Korvac told him. 

"You know, I don't really think that's up to you."

Korvac snorted. "Do you think you can hide behind my wife's skirts? She can barely keep me bottled up in here as it is."

Vance turned to Carina. The expression on her face told him that Korvac was right. "I cannot leave, or he will escape. I dare not lower the protections that keep Michael here for even a moment, lest he be unleashed once more upon the universe. I am sorry, Justice; but we are all prisoners of this place."

Vance's head throbbed.

"And in time, you will both come to see that my way is the best, that I have everyone's well-being at heart," Korvac said. "I could remake your universe, you know. Mend all the worn patches and sew up the rips. Correct all the little aggravating flaws. If you would just set me free, my love, I could save countless lives."

"Never," Carina spat. "You would create nothing but a hollow universe filled with puppets."

Korvac heaved a regretful sigh. "Perhaps you can talk some sense into her, Vance. Surely you don't want to waste your abbreviated lifespan trapped here, away from everything you love. Help me, and we can save them all."

_Love._ Korvac had no idea. Everything Vance loved was a contrary, stubborn, fiercely independent tangle of passion and intimacy issues. Kaine would never submit to being anyone's puppet. They would find another way. Vance trusted his team, and they weren't alone; they'd figure out a way to do what needed to be done, with or without him. "No. I've fought you before, and I'll do it again if that's what it comes down to."

" _Fight_ me?" Korvac laughed. "You must have hit your head harder than I thought. Have you forgotten that I know everything about you? Even if you were in any condition to fight, Vance, I only have to do one thing. One simple change, and I disarm you completely."

The spacious, pristine kitchen began to shift around them. Vance braced himself on the marble block, dizzy again. Counters rearranged themselves; the appliances became older; the blinds transformed into worn curtains. Vance was suddenly sitting at a scuffed wooden table. His chair wobbled as he jumped to his feet and almost fell over, scraping against the patterned linoleum floor.

"Well, Vance? Are you still going to fight me?" Korvac asked. Only it wasn't Korvac anymore.

It was his father.


	15. Chapter 15

_Spartoi Flagship_  
_Rogue Intergalactic Orphan_

It was late again before Nita had the chance to track Sil down for a private word. She was glad Rich was on his feet again; that had been pretty onerous. When the others had gone back up the the _Resolute Duty_ , she'd stayed behind, not to keep an eye on Rich, but to touch base with her other friends.

Sil smiled when she answered her door, dressed for bed in pyjama bottoms and a tee-shirt. She looked pretty much like Nita remembered. Her hair had changed a little, maybe, and she looked a little more grown up, in her twenties and not her teens. The most obvious difference was the missing crutches and leg-braces. Nita wondered when that had happened.

"I hope it's not too late," Nita said. It wasn't usually. Sil had always been the one with the creature of the night vibe going on.

Sil shrugged. "A clock seems like a pretty useless thing to have around right now anyway. Come on in."

Waving Nita to the room's only chair, Sil plopped down on the bed. "You want to talk about it?"

Nita paused in the act of sitting down. "How'd you know?"

"You wanted to last time."

Namorita made a face. Everyone else seemed to know more about this thing than she did, and it was already getting old.

"You know I'm not really—"

"But you changed, without wanting to," Sil said. "You feel different. You look different. It messes with your head."

"You know, my mom went through this," Nita said. "I mean, the other way around. She looked like a normal Atlantean until she hit puberty. I guess when she cloned me, she tried to keep that from happening."

"But it backfired."

"Ugh, seriously." Nita drew her legs up and crossed her arms on her knees, resting her chin on them. "And I don't even know what this means. You're right. I feel _different_ now, but it's hard to get a hold of."

"After I was shot, it took me a while to realise how much there really was to deal with. And _dealing_ with it—it still sneaks up on me sometimes. Let me tell you, people take legs for granted. And there was all this stuff with my brother and my powers coming in, plus Dwayne. Some of it you'll get over, but some of it you just have to get used to. There aren't any such thing as emotional shortcuts."

"But you got your legs fixed. You're completely fine now," Nita pointed out.

Sil hesitated on a breath. "Yeah. I guess I am."

 

_The_ Resolute Duty  
_Orbit_

Ronan, Supreme Accuser and leader of the Kree people, stepped out of his personal shuttle into the somewhat shabby docking bay of the Nova Corps ship. His path was lined by a squad of elite Kree warriors, more than just an honour guard in this company.

Waiting to receive him was Peter Quill, now Emperor of Spartax, and son of the man who had destroyed Hala. Even less welcome was the sight of Gladiator. He was accompanied only by ordinary Shi'ar soldiers and not the Imperial Guard, perhaps as a gesture to the purportedly non-military nature of this crisis. An ambiguous gesture: as praetor of the Imperial Guard, Gladiator was more than capable of carrying out any planned strikes himself.

But the figure that riveted Ronan's attention, standing at the fore of a mixed squad in Nova uniforms, was Richard Rider. Ronan stopped in front of him, raking him with a penetrating eye.

Rider looked bad. He'd lost an arm somewhere and never had it replaced. That haunted look called to mind the worst days of the Annihilation War.

"Ronan. Good to see you on your feet again," Rider greeted him.

"You look like you shouldn't be on yours."

Rider's smile went crooked. "Thanks for coming out. We've got a problem, and we could really use the Kree Empire's help."

Ronan looked around again at the others represented here. "Who is 'we'? Your summons was vague. I wouldn't have come if not for my desire to learn of your true fate."

"'We' is everyone breathing in the universe," Rider said. "I've been sitting on a real jack-in-the-box out here, waiting for someone to catch up. My brother's working with the experts here already to put together a briefing for you and Gladiator on the situation."

"Quill. You now rule the Spartoi," Ronan turned to greet him coolly, noting the absence of his grandiosely titled Guardians of the Galaxy. "Have you finally cast off your miscreant rabble?"

"No, the rabble's still hanging around. We just though this would go better if no one came out swinging." Quill was at least dressing like a figure of power and not a hijacker. However, his comportment remained entirely undignified.

"So the renegade Gamora is still in your service." Ronan grimaced every time he thought of how big a role the Kree had played in assembling Quill's personally-loyal power-base for him

"Easy, big guy. Before you get all wound up, you should know that this entire area of space is like a sneeze away from busting open a new Fault. So, you know, give it to me later. Alternatively, if you'd like to schedule a time to get drunk and enumerate all the ways in which my father was a soulless turd of a person, my calendar is wide open. I, seriously, I apologise for his existence."

"Quill, I don't think you're helping," Rider said with a warning edge to his voice, glancing at Ronan to gauge his reaction. 

"Also, if you ever suggest to Gamora that she serves me in any way, I'll be forced to treat it as an assassination attempt. Fair warning."

_Pama, I hate humans._

 

_The_ Resolute Duty  
_Also in orbit_

Rich was feeling a lot better, even if he still looked like hell, and as much as he appreciated everyone giving him space, although not so much the constant spooked looks, there were some things he had to do before the intergalactic leadership sat down tomorrow. He needed to talk with the Nova Corps.

Rich had taken every last drop of the Nova Force back up when he'd gone into the Cancerverse. It had been an emergency, and he'd figured that if he was killed the Nova Force would revert to the Worldmind, safe and more or less sound in the _Resolute Duty_ 's computer banks. Probably. The cost of _not_ sealing the Fault with as much bad news inside as possible would have been way higher, anyhow.

Things had not gone exactly to plan, obviously; but the bottom line now was that Rich was here, the Nova Force was here, and the Corps was here. Gravimetric batteries or not, they'd been doing the corps' work while he'd been plugged into a glorified cosmic doorstop. 

Despite the Worldmind's impatience, it _had_ always been Rich's intention to rebuild the Nova Corps. He'd just had very vivid memories of what it was like being thrown into the deep end himself, and also of thousands of fully-trained Novas massacred in the ruins of a ruined planet. His squashy organic feelings had needed some time to recover

"Nova Prime, welcome aboard," Zan Philo greeted him inside the airlock.

"Thanks," Rich said, grinning. It felt _good_ to fly again. "Everybody up here?"

Zan Philo had been the solution to Rich's little problem. The centurion had survived the Annihilation Wave by being dimensionally displaced in his own nightmarish hellhole and was one of a whole two good things that had come out of the Fault. He had the experience that Rich did not to train up the new recruits Rich had found himself saddled with; he had a ship; and simply by existing he'd solved the problem of Rich needing to be in two places at once or else drag raw beginners headfirst through an unending string of eight by eights. 

"As you requested, sir. I believe most of them are in the observation lounge. Do you want me to round them up?"

Being sirred by (anyone) someone with twice his age and experience still felt kind of strange, but given everything else going on in his life, it barely ticked the weirdometer. Rich still hadn't had time for chit-chat like finding out what species Philo was. He was green and kind of lizard-y, but not Skrull or Badoon. The issue was complicated by the two arms grafted onto his left side, where the repairer had evidently decided that two was better than one.

"Yeah. I'm afraid I've been neglecting you guys," Rich apologised.

"You've been through an enormous strain, sir. No one expects you to bounce back immediately," said Philo.

_So not true._ Rich shrugged. "It's a wonder what hosting the entire Nova Force can do for your recovery time." 

Philo's expression said that the idea still made his blood run cold, although whether because he'd lived through the Garthan Saal fiasco or because Rich was a reckless human upstart he couldn't quite say. Philo had been quick to come on board with Rich's plan for the new Nova Corps, though, once he'd gotten over the initial shock. _By all accounts, he's been doing a good job with them in the meantime._

Walking down the corridors, Rich could see that the ship had been repaired while he'd been gone. It was still a little worn around the edges, but the gleam of the metallic surfaces spoke of Philo's exacting standards. 

The crew lounge was a large, open space at the aft end of the ship with a panoramic view of space that stretched up overhead in what was usually a pretty spectacular sight but right now only showed Quill's ship on a backdrop of unrelieved blackness. It looked a little more lived in than Rich remembered. Not untidy (Philo had very strict opinions about leaving clutter lying around), but there were personal viewers and what looked like games in labelled closed cubbies, and Lindy Nolan was curled up under a throw-blanket on the curved couch-like piece of furniture. Morrow hurried to stop the playback on the music that had been playing softly in the background when he saw Rich and Philo enter. 

Nita and Fraktur took up the rest of the couch. Fraktur had in fact gotten even bigger in the last year, to the point where Rich had to wonder how much longer she was going to fit on the ship. But most of his attention was fixed on Nita.

She noticed him staring and raised an eyebrow. "Hey, Rich."

"Hi, Nita. I didn't expect you to be here."

"Well, you called a Corps meeting," she said as though it were obvious.

_Duh._ Nita had been working with the Novas since he disappeared. Of course they would automatically include her in things. 

"Oh. Well, I'm not sure how much this will directly affect you unless you've developed a sudden urge to wear a bucket on your head, but you're welcome to stay," Rich said, recalling any number of cracks about his helmet over the years. 

Nita's eyebrow remained unimpressed. Rich was finding he was unprepared for what seeing her like this was doing to him. _And I thought finding her in the Fault stirred up old feelings. This_ was the Nita he'd—well, he had and he hadn't. But it was even harder now to look at her without seeing the woman he'd loved. 

He'd put her back up with that remark, but maybe some of what was going through his head was showing on his face because her expression softened marginally and she didn't fire back. Rich felt the breeze as something whooshed past him and tore his eyes away from Nita's to see Qubit zooming towards Morrow where he and Tre Owens sat with Jesse and Sam Alexander.

Rich didn't know much about the pair except that Jesse Alexander was the reason there were a number of evil-looking slave gladiators hanging out on the New Warriors' lower decks and that Sam had been the source of the power fluctuations that had threatened his efforts at containing the tear. _Be nice to have another veteran around, though,_ Rich thought a little wistfully.

Rob was hunched in front of an incomprehensible holographic display beside Irani Rael. _Big surprise there._ He pushed his glasses up his nose and elbowed Rael, who was still engrossed in whatever it was they were working on. She started to huff at him, then noticed Rich standing there.

There were some movements to get up, but Rich waved them all down. Philo might be all about the rules and regulations, but Rich had never really been good at it.

Unfortunately, they all ignored him. What Rich had assumed was a reflex to stand at attention or something turned out to be a mass rush to group hug and back-slapping. Rich wobbled, but the Corps held him up. _Oh._ His eyes absolutely did not mist up.

Everyone was talking at once, a jumble of _good to have you back,_ and, _we missed you, we never stopped looking,_ and, from Morrow, _hell of a place for a vacation._

"All right, all right, ease up," Philo scolded. 

Morrow finally let him go. Still a little off-balance, Rich sagged into one of the multi-species armchairs and tried to gather his thoughts.

Nita, who had already had a chance at him, stayed where she was. She let go of Rob's arm, which she'd grabbed to keep him from interrupting the stampede. The Alexanders had also hung back, strangers in the group. Everyone else found their seats again, Qubit stopped zipping around his head in dizzying circles, and all eyes turned back to Rich, watching him expectantly.

"Um, so, you've all probably got a lot of questions," Rich said. "But I first, I wanted to thank you all for everything you've done. Not just finding me, but what you've been doing since I left, working to help people and keep the universe safe. I'm proud of you."

That went over well. Rich kept going.

"Now for the part you're not going to like. I can't repower the corps—not yet. There's no point when I'm probably going to be switching out with Quasar on a regular basis until this thing is through."

"Due respect, Nova Prime, but are you sure you're strong enough?" Philo asked.

"I have to be," Rich said. "Wendell should be able to hold out long enough for me to rest up some, at least."

"Working in shifts should reduce the cumulative mental and physical strain on both of you," Rael said reasonably, bless her clockwork Rigellian heart. "Provided you are in adequate health to begin with."

She looked as sceptical about that as the rest of them. Rich sighed; no confidence, none of them. 

"Obviously, none of this is ideal; but we don't have a lot of options. You'll all get your powers back when this is over, I promise."

"What are we supposed to do in the meantime?" Fraktur asked. 

Rich eyed her cautiously for signs of being more than just unhappy. "Rob, Irani, Qubit, I think you should keep doing what you've been doing. Work with Starhawk, the Worldmind, and whatever experts the Kree and Shi'ar have dug up to figure out how to seal these tears. And find Justice. As for the rest of you—well, you know what tends to happen when you put Kree and Shi'ar in the same place."

"My memory banks contain extensive information on the subject," Qubit volunteered.

"Yeah, so do mine," Jesse Alexander said.

"The council's going to be meeting on the New Warriors' ship. It's the best choice as far as computer and lab facilities go, plus no bad blood with anyone." Except for Darkhawk, but maybe Rich could stash him up here. "The team doesn't have a lot of experience out here, though. They don't know the politics, and they don't have your discipline and training, and that's not even going into Centurion Alexander's friends down in the hold."

"Friends might be a strong word," said Alexander.

"So you want us to, what, be security?" Lindy asked, clearly less than thrilled. Weirdly, her broad Australian accent reminded Rich of home more strongly than anything else out here. 

"More like run interference. Keep an eye on things; step in if they start getting out of hand."

"Boring," Morrow complained.

"Not if we aren't careful." Rob shook his head. "Rich is right. We don't need anyone storming off in a huff, and a boss-level fight out here could ruin everybody's day. Frankly, the more I look at it, the more I'm surprised the fight with the Raptors didn't do it."

"Starhawk said they have an information stream but that the fractures disrupt it. It's possible that they were extrapolating from the gaps in their data to tell them where not to aim," Rael mused. 

"If they knew where the things were, then wouldn't that mean they knocked Justice through on purpose?"

The question came from Owens. Everyone turned to stare at him. He spread his hands. "Just saying."

"But why Vance?" Nita asked.

Alexander shrugged. "Opportunity? Maybe he was just the first unlucky schlag to line up."

"They hit him from three directions at once," Fraktur disagreed. 

Rob looked thoughtful. "I'd have to go back over the reconstruction, see who was where."

"Do it," Rich told him. He shook his head. "This just keeps getting weirder and weirder."

 

_Spartoi Flagship_  
_Still in orbit_

"Everyone all settled?" Kitty asked, sticking her head out through the bathroom door. 

Peter groaned in response, doing his best to look hard done by. Kitty raised an unsympathetic eyebrow, toothbrush back in her mouth, clearly not buying it.

Shucking his jacket, he kicked off his boots and wandered over to open the door. Curiously, he pushed it back and forth through Kitty's head a couple of times. Eyes narrowing dangerously, she grabbed Peter by the collar of his shirt and pulled him through the partially open door at an odd angle. 

"Whoa." 

Peter tried to catch his balance, but his hands passed through the sink. Kitty smirked around her toothbrush and waited until he was clear before letting go. 

Solid again, he hopped up onto the counter next to the sink, not at all so he could look down her cleavage. Hey, they were engaged, he had specific permission. "Ronan isn't super-happy to be here, but at least he came. Even with Hala gone, the Kree still have a lot of resources."

Kitty spat and filled a cup with water.

"You're beautiful when you gargle," Peter told her. "Anyway, we can officially get down to business tomorrow. Gladiator's been getting just a wee bit impatient; but the Kree are kind of in a state, so heaven forbid we start without them."

Peter made a face. His own retinue had also managed to catch up with him during the lag. He could have wished for a longer break from all the hoopla; it was just that for some reason when he started telling them to convene emergency intergalactic councils on his behalf, people started shipping him diplomatic trappings. And diplomats. Which was silly, since they were going to be hanging out on the Earth ship because it was neutral territory and the Earth kids had no problems letting the Xandarian Worldmind romp around freely in their computer banks. 

Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, Kitty set the cup down. "Well, at least it gave Starhawk and the Nova Corps some more time to find a possible solution. Are you sure you don't want to call Earth?"

Peter sighed, drumming his heels on the doors of the cupboards underneath the sink. "Not the most popular move I could make."

"Since when has that bothered Peter Quill, Rogue Monarch?" Kitty asked. "Us Earthlings have done a lot of good out here, you know."

"I know. You saved my whole planet."

Kitty leaned on the sink and smiled playfully up at him. "Maybe they should have elected me President."

"I'd vote for you," Peter told her. 

"Seriously, though. I guess the Fantastic Four were a hot mess the last I heard, but Reed Richards isn't the only brain in town." Kitty frowned.

"Stark's gone total whack-job, some kind of nervous breakdown or something, according to Carol Danvers," Peter counted the super-geniuses down on his fingers. "Kid Nova's worked with him, but I am absolutely not going to be the one to reintroduce the Hulk to space; I don't care how smart he is. Mad Max was useful the last time someone gored a hole in the fabric of reality, but if we bring the Inhumans into this, the Kree are likely to blow up the universe themselves through sheer force of outrage."

Kitty scrunched up her face, momentarily side-tracking Peter with her adoreableness. "I thought Ronan was a pretty practical guy."

"Ronan married an Inhuman while they were out here. Word is that he was kind of unhappy when they all took their toys and went home."

"Oh."

Peter grimaced. "Uh-huh. My dad blew up his planet. I am not going to go messing with his in-laws."

"I do not blame you," Kitty said.

"Yeah. And when I called Beast, he babbled something ominous and discouraging about irreparable damage to the space-time continuum that we might want to keep to ourselves." Actually, Thanos had said something disturbingly similar quite a while ago, something Peter was not in a rush to share with the class. "It doesn't seem like he's handling the whole Black Vortex thing very well." 

A cloud passed over Kitty's face. She had a lot of people she cared about back on Earth that she'd left behind to come running around with him. 

"Wait, when did you talk to Carol?" Kitty asked.

"Oh, a couple days ago," Peter said offhandedly, squeezing some toothpaste onto his own toothbrush. At least every flavour in the galaxy wasn't toxically aggressive mint. 

"I don't suppose she just happened to call you in the middle of a crisis."

Peter tried to say, "As a matter of fact, she did," around his toothbrush, but it came out garbled.

Kitty tapped her fingers impatiently on the countertop, waiting for him to finish.

"But I called her first," Peter continued. "We're going to need juice for this, whatever we come up with; and I don't think there's a ceiling on Carol's ability to channel energy. Might come in useful."

"Ooh. It always surprises me when you're clever." Kitty slid an arm around his neck and came up on her tip-toes to kiss him. 

Kitty had already taken off her bra, but Peter couldn't fully appreciate it from this position. He slid down off the counter top as smoothly as he could, although mostly he was paying attention to keeping this kiss going. 

"Better," he said into a pause for breath, pulling her flush. 

Kitty was dressed for bed in a tank top and these tiny shorts that flagrantly displayed her unfairly amazing legs. Well, Earth heroes all wore those ridiculous skin-tight costumes (not that it hadn't been a miracle Gamora hadn't come popping out of that thing she used to wear every time she pointed a gun at someone), which meant their real full-time occupation was obviously going to the gym; so he'd always known Kitty had nice legs. But all that dance training had clearly done her a lot of favours. She was also very bendy, which was high on the long list of his favourite things about her. 

Peter slid his hand up to cup one of her breasts and rub his thumb over the nipple through her shirt. Kitty made an interested noise, so he kept going, worming his other hand between them to ruck up her shirt and brush his knuckles just firmly enough over the smooth skin of her stomach that it didn't tickle.

Kitty came back down off her toes again, breaking their kiss with a toothy farewell to his lower lip. Peter made a little sound and sucked in air like that would actually stop his head from spinning. 

"Bed now," decided Kitty.

"Yes, please."

Peter went happily, slinging his arm around her waist to hold her pressed back against him. They walked inefficiently to the lavish bed that was one of the compensations for the imperial entourage catching up with them. It was a ridiculous thing to waste room on in a spaceship, although there was still a low net over it in case of the gravity going out or unexpected turbulence. The ceiling was padded for good measure.

Reluctantly, Peter let go of Kitty's warm, smooth everything so he could peel onion-like out of the rest of his presidential duds. Kitty laid down on the ergonomically blissful mattress and tortured him by stretching luxuriously on the irreplaceable Orbuceni silk sheets. 

"You're a hard woman," Peter complained, stripping hurriedly and leaving his clothes where they fell. He was pretty sure his valet wanted to murder him in his sleep, but Peter couldn't even believe he had a valet, so.

"I thought that was your area," Kitty teased.

Peter laughed and ducked under the net to crawl into bed. "That was terrible."

Kitty squawked in mock outrage, shoving playfully at him. "Way to sweet-talk a girl."

Peter thumped over onto his back, the warm feeling bubbling up in his chest making him smile. "Sorry. Want to help me with my hard area?" 

Kitty collapsed on top of him, laughing. 

"Hey, I'm serious, here." Peter did his best to look put out.

"I know you are." Kitty dropped a fond kiss onto his lips, but dissolved immediately again into snickers. 

They shared a string of giggly kisses, touching each other with warm hands. Peter tumbled them over and peeled Kitty's shirt off. He kissed her kicking diaphragm.

"You're buffer than I am," Peter concluded wryly, working his way along her six-pack. A _six-pack_. She was ridiculous. 

"Well, that's not news." Kitty poked him in the midsection, which, if it maybe wasn't as impressively steely as his fiancée's, hadn't yet fallen victim to the excesses of the imperial banquet table. "I don't know how you'll keep in shape without people chasing you nonstop."

"I've heard sex is good cardio," Peter replied innocently. Maybe not-so-innocently, considering where his hands had gotten. 

"Honey, no offense, but I think trying to have that much sex is more likely to kill you than getting shot at," Kitty told him, squirming in a not-displeased way. 

Peter _hmm_ ed in polite disagreement, sliding his mouth down towards the curls between her legs. He inhaled the smell of her arousal as his fingers teased her, mouthing at the lovely, pale skin of her inner thighs. Kitty made room for him, sliding her hands down from his neck to his shoulders, tugging him up. 

"Impatient," Peter murmured into the crease of her thigh. 

"Just— _mmm_ —trying to keep your heart rate up."

Peter blew a raspberry but obediently nosed in towards the hot zone. Kitty's squeak segued into a hum of pleasure as he licked over the lips of her cunt and found her clit. 

He kept working her with his fingers and tongue until she was sweating and shifting restlessly. Peter had one of her bent legs over his shoulder, palming the curve of her back with that hand. 

The only problem with silk was that it was hard to get traction. There was also always a lot of extra writhing involved, which, as Kitty would say, was less a bug and more a feature. The smooth slide against Peter's erection in combination with Kitty's increasingly urgent moans was both wonderful and torturous. She was getting close, all those muscles tightening under her soft skin. By the time she came, Peter's face and hands and her thighs were slick and the odour of sex was overwhelming. He felt so turned on he thought she might have been right about the death-by-sex thing. _God, what a way to go._

They lay quiescent for a moment, Kitty unstrung and Peter making a desperate effort to get a hold of himself. He wasn't really successful; but Kitty helped him out by flipping him up and around, ending by straddling his waist.

"I _love_ you," Peter said feelingly, licking his lips.

She licked his lips, too. Then, with every evidence of enjoyment, Kitty reached up and ran a hand through his neat I Am President Quill hair, mussing it. 

Kitty did not kiss him with the urgency he thought appropriate to the situation, which was what came of being a gentleman and getting your girl off first. She _did_ , however, kiss him like she was very fond of his mouth. 

Peter ran his hands up her back where she had to bend to stay below the safety net and around to cup her breasts. Kitty's nipples were already hard and sensitised, much like himself, and he went about sending a message to their owner. 

Unfortunately, it seemed like nipple semaphore needed some more work before it was a reliable means of communication, because instead of taking pity on him, Kitty was inspired drag her mouth away from his and kiss up and down his neck. Even being careful not to leave marks, she had Peter flushed and feeling his pulse hammering in his throat. 

For his part, Peter could hardly believe that he had blood _left_ in those parts of his body. He had gone from provocative fondling to helplessly drawing Kitty down against him. 

"Not to rush you," Peter groaned, Kitty's lips parted around his Adam's apple, "but seriously, any time you're ready." 

Kitty's tongue swept out like she was licking up the vibrations. Every time she exhaled against Peter's wet skin, a shiver went through him. 

He moaned when Kitty stuck her hand into the nightstand and came out with a condom. Crazy or not, Peter was going to have to call Stark and get him to send him some more if reality didn't come crashing down around their ears, because Kitty was cute and didn't trust modern long-term galactic prophylactics. _Or maybe she just thinks I'm a space-skank._ Harsh. True, but harsh.

Peter thrust into her hand when she rolled it on; she rode him like a bronco. Bracing herself against the ornate headboard, she smiled crookedly down at him. 

"If you want this to work, you're going to have to calm down a little."

"Your fault," he panted. "Totally your fault."

Kitty's eyes twinkled and she adjusted her stance and her grip on him and brought the head of his cock to her hot and swollen labia so she could sink down over him in a slow, tight, smooth, wonderful...he was losing track. Peter's hands had found her hips but managed to let her come down in her own time. She rolled her hips and he met her, the rhythm starting strong and building, pushing Kitty's head against the net. 

Kitty made a noise of frustration at the obstruction, and Peter tumbled her onto her back before she had a chance to phase through it. They always said not to start something you couldn't stop, and phasing in bed had occasionally turned out kind of...awkward. 

Peter found his angle and held on. Kitty manhandled him into a kiss for as long as either of them could keep it up, then gasped into his neck, where the memory of her lips was still fresh. 

Stealing his hand, she brought it firmly to where she needed it. Peter wasn't one to argue; he took his orders and pressed a kiss to her cheek, her jaw, her absurdly adorable ear. 

Kitty mewled, which he could never quite believe. Her arms locked around him, fingers digging in, legs and toes flexing; and Peter had been holding on for such a very long time. He let it rip, the release feeling so stupendous that he almost expected to hear a report like from a shot. 

For a wonderful, endless moment, the pleasure ricocheted between them. Peter caught himself on his elbow, feeling more than a little like a struck bell. 

"Love you," he said softly into the skin of her shoulder, without clowning or pretence. 

Kitty cupped his neck, stroking her thumb along his hair line, and pressed a kiss to the crown of his head. "Love you, too, space-man."


	16. Chapter 16

_The_ New Wundagore III  
_Surface_

"There you are! Come on, it's lunch time. Eating something will make you less grumpy."

Kaine scowled down at Aracely as she bounced up to him outside in the corridor. It had been another stupid meeting, another fucking waste of time. All this endless jabbering about science wasn't getting them anywhere. 

"I'm not grumpy. And I'm not hungry." 

Well, aside from the constant baseline urge to rip someone's throat out with his teeth. The Other had been seething under his skin since he let it up, continually on the verge of bursting free. It hadn't been so bad since the Inheritors were hunting them all.

Probably it was just reacting to the inferno of Kaine's rage. He hadn't thought he'd stopped being angry, but the sudden red fury when Vance had been taken out had burst from him like a volcano. Now it flowed through his veins like lava, for once a purely emotional sensation. 

There was something wrong with this entire place. It couldn't be Kaine's spider-sense going off because he didn't have one anymore, but all the useless blathering everyone had been doing seemed to boil down to everything here being enormously fucked up, which Kaine couldn't argue with.

"Go away."

Aracely didn't go away. That was the problem with Aracely. She just stood there expectantly and Kaine never had any idea what the fuck he was supposed to do. 

And now she was looking at him like he was stupid. "You're supposed to come eat. There are still some of those things that taste like spicy cherries, and I know where Robbie hides his secret stash of emergency junk food."

"I thought you couldn't read his mind."

"I can't, but I can be _really_ persuasive when I want to," Aracely said, staring earnestly up at him with eyes that seemed twice their usual size. 

Kaine snorted, refusing to be moved.

Aracely heaved a put-upon sigh. "At least get some rest."

"I don't need to rest; I'm not doing anything," Kaine said, disgusted. 

Aracely muttered something that sounded like, _other than giving me a headache_. Crossing her arms, she stopped trying to be cute. It was an unsettling effect under all the face-paint anyway. Everyone was walking around in costume nonstop in case something actually happened. In Kaine's opinion, that was getting less and less likely. They were all stubbornly working as hard as they could to deny what had been obvious from the start.

Impulsively, Aracely reached out and put her hand on his arm, trying to get him to look at her again. "He's gonna be okay; I know it. We'll fix the universe and get him back."

Kaine shrugged her off. "Maybe fixing the universe isn't the way to get him back. If he fell through one of those things those cosmic yahoos came through and he's stuck wherever Nova was, maybe we should just let it all shred."

"But it's the _universe_ , Kaine! Vance cares about the universe," Aracely gasped, shocked. They were attracting people's attention, space-heroes and Earth-heroes pausing on their way out of the large laboratory—had Kaine mentioned that he hated laboratories?—to see what the disturbance was about.

"Well, I don't. If I have to rip reality to pieces to find him, I will. It's not like they're going to be able to do anything about this mess." 

"Don't say that! Of course we will. President Quill is friends with all the other empires and heroes in space, and they've all come to help," Aracely said.

Kaine laughed blackly. "You said it yourself, kid: it's the _universe_. No one can fix that. They're wasting their time even trying."

"You don't mean that!"

"Don't I?" Kaine rounded on her. "I'm sick of this pointless, naïve bullshit! There's only one thing I care about, so screw all the rest of it." 

Aracely's eyes brimmed with tears. "You're just mean because you're scared!"

She turned and ran out; Kaine flinched with each slap of her feet against the floor. The anger curdled into shame in his stomach, stoking the hateful fire that threatened to consume him. Everyone was staring at him. _Well, at least I have the guts to say it out loud._

Kaine snarled back at them all and launched himself towards a spot high on the wall several dozen yards down the corridor. He thought _disappear_ hard at his costume.

Vance had _promised_ , dammit. When he'd dragooned Kaine into joining this stupid team, he'd said he'd be here to stop him when his true nature won out. Vance had been the one who believed in him, and it was his own damned fault if Kaine lost it now and did something horrible. _Like making little girls cry?_

_Dammit._

_Dammit, you asshole. Why the fuck do I miss you so much?_

 

The galactic—or was that intergalactic? Selah was unsure—leadership had gotten in last night, but they hadn't gotten cracking until this morning. President Quill had said something about these guys being cranky enough without dropping the end of the universe on them when their blood sugar was low. Selah's thoughts on Quill were mostly that he needed to update his pop culture references; but she had to admit, these guys looked pretty grim. 

Selah's focus had mostly been local to New York, which, to be fair, was where most super-activity on the planet was still concentrated. Gladiator and Ronan the Accuser had both made big enough splashes in the past that she had been vaguely familiar with their reputation as heavy-weights before Vance had seen fit to start giving her the cosmic run-down. She could feel it in the air when they walked by. _This got really big, really fast._

The other Nova—Richard Rider, the one they'd come out here looking for; 'Nova' was a much less helpful identifier when there were, like, ten of them running around—had it, too. Only there was something kind of unsettling about him, like he wasn't all there anymore, and Selah did not just mean his arm. The guy had been sitting in the dark for maybe a couple of years with a psychic fire hose of power running through his brain. Clearly there was a level of trauma there no one wanted to address.

Selah had watched the rest of the aliens file in. The traditional Shi'ar hair styles were pretty wild, but otherwise they and the Kree looked more human than some Inhumans. Still, Selah did not think lady bald-spots were going to be in fashion on Earth anytime soon. 

There had really been no reason for Selah to be here, except that she and Fraktur had actually seen Vance—disappear during the fight, and since he'd apparently disappeared through a hole in space-time everybody wanted to know as much as possible about it. Otherwise, she wasn't part of the brain trust, and she'd already heard most of this before. 

Selah had dutifully paid attention anyway, not because she thought she was going to crack this, but because she wanted to know where these guys came down and how they thought. If she wanted to do things, then she had to know things. 

Still, Selah was seriously regretting leaving her phone in her room, even though it didn't really do anything out here, by the time Rich and Rob Rider took the Emperors Three on a field trip to the bunker where Quasar was making like a cosmic band-aid to inspect things for themselves. 

Everyone else drifted off, mostly in the direction of lunch, the Scarlet Spider in the direction of a total melt-down. Because it was a pain in the ass shuttling up and down from orbit but no one else quite dared to park their ships this close to ground zero, _Wundagore_ 's cafeteria had been invaded while everyone else was getting topped up on exposition. A lot of their combined heroic forces were there making sure the cooks didn't set each other on fire. Most of the rest were sitting on Sam's dad's gladiator pals, so maybe kicking her heels in meetings all day wasn't so bad.

Also, alien delicacies were a step up from instant ramen, which was about all that was left upstairs that Selah knew how to cook. Sure, every once in a while you bit into something clearly not designed for human taste buds; but hey, it kept life interesting. 

"Excuse me, Sun Girl?" The Shi'ar woman who'd been hovering next to Gladiator all morning approached the corner of table where Selah had settled herself to people-watch.

Selah scrambled to her feet. "Chancellor—Araki?"

As much time as Selah was spending in costume these days, it had been starting to seem normal. Surrounded now by people in uniforms and fancy robes, she suddenly felt conspicuous again. It was weird; superheroes (sometimes) did normal things around each other in costume, but around normal people they were usually doing superhero things and then leaving as fast as possible. 

"Yes. I was wondering if I might join you." Araki gestured at the empty seat across from her.

"Be my guest." 

They each sat down. Selah noticed that Araki didn't have a plate, but decided not to mention it. Araki was exactly the kind of person she needed to be talking to if she wanted to keep the search for Vance from being lost in the cosmic shuffle. 

"I wanted to speak with you further about your experiences on the planet's surface," Araki said. This close, Selah could see that the sideways mohawk thing was actually made from feathers, not hair. She was wearing a silvery, flowing, high-necked off-the-shoulder gown that made Selah extra conscious of the fact her costume was starting to look a little worn around the edges.

"Sure. I don't know how much more I can add to what I said earlier, but fire away."

"The Fraternity of Raptors is of interest to the imperium," Araki explained. "They have been involving themselves in our affairs of late. They claim to be allies and have at times acted in our interests, although they remain elusive. You can see why we would wish to know more."

_Uhhhhhh._ "I don't know much about intergalactic politics, but the Raptors were definitely the ones doing the attacking both times we ran into them. They blew up a ship just to get us off their backs for a minute."

"A Chitauri ship," Araki pointed out.

Selah, who barely knew a Chitauri from a hole in the wall, made a face. "I'm actually pretty sure the first thing they shot at was Sam—I mean, Centurion Alexander. Little Alexander. But I could definitely check on that for you; we've got video feed of the fight."

"That would be most appreciated," Araki thanked her. "Do you have any idea what their aim in confronting you might have been?" 

"Not really? They weren't exactly interested in talking things out."

"So they might have identified the tear as a threat and been acting to secure it," Araki said, thinking out loud.

Selah's brows wrinkled. "Well, Starhawk and the Novas think they came pretty close to blowing another one open instead. The consensus seems to be that if we want to keep this buttoned up, we need to tread lightly. Oh!" Selah brightened. "That's who you should talk to. You know Starhawk and Martinex were with Rider when he found the tear, right?"

"Yes, this Starhawk, what do you know about him? He is not a Raptor."

Selah was starting to get uncomfortable again. "He is...not really forthcoming when it comes to personal details. But he obviously doesn't look like a Raptor, if you've seen one. They're armoured from heat to toe with those amulets on their chests; Starhawk looks just like you saw him, only all lit up."

Actually, it would have been Starhawk going after Sam first. So, would the Raptors have been going after Sam or Starhawk? Starhawk had assumed they were following him, but if they'd been involved in the stuff Rider had been involved in, the Nova thing could have caught their attention, too. 

"And what has he said of the Fraternity?" Araki asked.

Selah thought back, and then thought some more about what she could say that was not admitting they were harbouring the Shi'ar's Most Wanted. "He didn't think they were very trustworthy." That seemed safe, since Starhawk had said as much to the whole council this morning. "I get the feeling it's different in the future, but a _lot_ of things are apparently different there." 

"So it would seem," Araki mused. 

Selah took a breath. "I don't know a lot about the Raptors either, but I do know that wherever they come from, they need a host to stay here. I don't care who you are; that's wrong. No cause is so important it justifies enslaving somebody else." 

Araki listened to her politely. Selah could not get a read on her except for a slightly weird vibe she thought might be shady politician. It wasn't the creeping sense of wrong she'd picked up from Doc Ock impersonating Spider-Man. Selah was both proud of herself for picking up on that all by herself and seriously, seriously disturbed by the fact that that was a thing that had happened at all. And given the fact that Selah now found herself out at the ass-end of the universe sitting on top of a bunch of literal holes in the space-time continuum, the weird superhero shit was just going to keep rolling.

Selah wondered briefly if she'd ever have an arch-nemesis. The best candidate so far was her dad and wow, yeah, okay, trying to impress an imperial counsellor was not really an appropriate time to be getting lost in old family baggage. _Snap out of it, girl._

"There is another reason I ask about the Raptors," Araki said. "You are aware of the assassination of Lilandra Neramani?"

"Oh. Uh, yes. I did hear about that." _Shitshitshitshitshitshitshit._

Araki bowed her head. "This heinous act was also perpetrated by a Raptor, whom the others have disavowed. He is the greatest enemy of our empire. On Earth he is known as Darkhawk. Have you ever encountered him?"

"Well, uh, to be honest, I haven't really been in the superhero business that long," Selah admitted. _Do not flop sweat! Do not flop sweat!_ "He hasn't been on the news in forever. Sorry."

Darkhawk had actually been dragged up to the Nova ship to keep the angry Shi'ar from tripping over him. If anyone found out he was there, they could pretend he was in custody and hopefully keep his head attached. 

Araki sighed. "I had hoped a human would know if anyone would. Anything you can discover will receive the thanks of the Imperium."

"I will add it to my Google alerts," Selah lied.

"Thank you for indulging me," Araki told her. "You have been most informative."

"No problem; I hope I was helpful."

Araki smiled; it looked practiced. "Oh, yes. Any information is valuable in this situation."

Selah smiled back. "I'll see if I can't get you the footage from that fight."

Araki stood, and Selah hurried to follow suit. "I would be most grateful." 

 

_The_ New Wundagore III  
_Rogue Intergalactic Orphan_

Robbie was starting to feel claustrophobic despite the size of the ship. Gruelling physical exertion wasn't really his cup of self-flagellation, but he had taken to wandering the less occupied sectors to keep from going stir-crazy. It helped, doing something, even something meaningless. 

The problem was that there wasn't anything useful for him to do. No, okay, that was a lie. The problem was that Robbie was too much of a mess to do the things he should be doing. Somebody needed to keep everyone from forgetting about Vance in and amidst all the dramatic disaster movie hoopla. For sure the n00bs needed a hand on the wheel. Nita had used to take over, but they didn't know Nita and she had just lost several years of leadership experience. Rich had his own ducklings to worry about, and no one else had been here before.

Robbie had the opposite problem, i.e. that he'd been here too much. He ought to know better. Seriously. There was no point in Robbie blaming himself for not having powers that would have been useful even if he'd been in the fight. What had happened to Vance wasn't a failure in judgement, it was a tough break. 

He just—he just— 

Someone was crying. It wasn't Robbie. He stopped; yep, definitely crying on the other side of this door. 

None of the lights were on, so Robbie felt his way carefully; his kinetic field was on, and he didn't want to bounce off anything. Gradually, his eyes started adjusting. The crying was coming from someone in the corner behind some incomprehensible machine. 

"Aracely?"

Aracely was sitting on the floor with her arms around her knees. She looked up when she heard him, and even though he couldn't see her blush, he saw her eyes widen in embarrassment.

"Robbie! I—What are you doing here?" she exclaimed in a watery voice.

Robbie slid down the wall to sit beside her, letting his head fall back and his eyes close. "Pretty much the same thing you are."

"I—oh." 

Robbie scooted over and put his arm around her. At least his anti-telepath thing meant he wasn't dumping more shit into her head. _I wouldn't wish the inside of my head on anybody today._

"He—he hurts so _much_ ," Aracely hiccoughed. "I know he doesn't mean the things he says. They hurt him, too. And he w-won't let me help! He just says the hurtful things and thinks that means it's better if he's al-lone, and it's _not_."

And wow, some of that was applicable to more than just the Scarlet Spider. Robbie squeezed her shoulders. 

"He'd a moron. Sometimes what you need is someone who hurts with you."

Robbie felt the tears leaking from the corners of his eyes. He didn't have the energy to fight them anymore, with the pit of black memories and self-loathing that opened under him—less often these days—yawning below him now. 

Unexpectedly, Aracely threw her arms around him almost hard enough to rebound and started sobbing into his chest. Robbie patted her back, a little hesitantly at first, then simply held her close. Poor, sad kid with a big heart. 

There were a lot of things you couldn't change. You couldn't help the past, or the way you felt, or how other people dealt with pain. But you could keep them from being alone. The New Warriors had always been the most important thing to Robbie, but it hadn't been until the disaster at Stamford that he came to understand how crucial it was to have someone on your side. Teams were for more than just fights. 

 

Teleporting was easy in space, which was good, because Silhouette was the only one who could manage it safely despite the gaps in fractured reality. Out here, the shadows were rich and deep. Sometimes, she thought she could enfold ships, whole planets in this dark.

Sil knew better than to test that out. There was a seductive pull to the darkness that she had always been susceptible to—not moral darkness, exactly, but danger, risk. Growing up on the streets had given her a different perspective on the dark. Keeping the darkforce in check could be a tightrope walk sometimes, but it didn't spook her. Mostly. 

Sil slid out of the shadows, into the warmth of the ship. Between standing guard over Quasar all afternoon waiting for something to go wrong or the Raptors to show up and hanging around with the alien gladiators all morning to make sure no one did something stupid like punch out the Kree Emperor, she thought she'd take the gladiators. They were less depressing.

Right now, though, she had different plans. Philo and Tre had come down to spell her and Mark, who had had incentive to find the winter gear in the ship's stores. Someone had also put in heaters and seating not carved from ice, so at least there wasn't the risk of hypothermia. 

It had still been a long time to sit in a dark place and think. And while Sil didn't mind the dark, there were some things she'd really rather not be thinking about right now. 

A drink with Gamora and Angela was just what the doctor ordered. Or a sparring session; Sil had squared off against a few of the more restive ex-gladiators this morning, but actually being able to _jump_ and _run_ was still enough of a novelty that she was willing to go a few more rounds, even if it meant getting her ass handed to her. Sil was good; but on any list of the best, Gamora, Drax, and Angela were going to be near the top. This was a once in a lifetime opportunity. 

"—I am Groot!" the space-Ent yelped as Sil stepped out of his shadow.

"Hi, everyone. Sorry, Groot," Sil apologised. 

"I am Groot," he grumbled.

Rocket the Racoon gave her a hard look over his glass. "What he said. Sneaking up on people like that..."

"Ignore him," Gamora told her, not looking up from the gun she was cleaning. 

"Flark knows the rest of us do," Drax rumbled, sending a knife spinning at a target. 

"Hey! That hurts!" Rocket shot after him, then reached for the bottle. 

Angela and Gamora had laid out their assorted weaponry for inspection on a small table on the far side of the room. It was the most normal-looking piece of furniture Sil could see, or at least she assumed the plushly upholstered humps in the middle of the floor were some kind of contortionist couches, evidently designed to accommodate several different species at once. 

Sil seemed to have walked in on the middle of a knife-throwing competition. _Because obviously darts are for pussies._ There was a target set up in one corner; several knives were already sticking out of it, with more laid out next to everyone's glasses. _Drunken knife-throwing._

Sil wandered over to the bar, out of the line of fire. This ship was almost as fancy as the palace on Spartax, but then she supposed it was the emperor's ship. Some of the bottles looked more appealing than others behind their ornate, locking cabinet door—Sil had noticed that not a lot of things got left lying around loose on a spaceship. She couldn't read any of the labels. 

Jack Flag leaned across the bar and smiled at her. Sil wondered if his hair was supernaturally that colour or if he'd managed to find dye in space. 

"Buy you a drink?"

"That'd be great, thanks." 

Jack nodded and turned to undo another one of the cabinet latches. "I would recommend the Denebian ion wine. Although the way you get along with Gamora, you might prefer the hroniss."

"Would I regret it in the morning?"

"Not if your constitution is stronger than than that of the males of your species," Angela said plainly, hands occupied with her and Gamora's next round of drinks. 

Jack rolled his eyes. "Probably," he told Sil. 

Sil nodded. "Let's do it, then." 

Jack laughed and grabbed a bottle that looked disturbingly like it might have been carved from bone. Sil started having second thoughts.

The liquid that came out of it was thick, dark, and oddly iridescent, the colours shifting in the low light. An aroma like half a spice rack mixed together wafted up to tickle her nose. 

Jack poured a measure into an oddly shaped glass, then stoppered the bottle and reached for a different one.

"What, none for you?" Sil teased.

The glass Jack filled from the other bottle was much larger. "Not on your life; I have nothing to prove."

Neither did Silhouette, but she was curious now. She raised her hroniss, and they clinked glasses. "Yo."

"Bottoms up."

_Ah, what the hell?_ Sil knocked back her drink, aware of her intensely interested audience. 

It felt like someone was steam-cleaning her sinuses. Sil had been prepared for the alcohol, but the tantalisingly spicy smell turned out to be hot like fire. She restricted herself to a small cough, trying to decide whether inhaling would make it better or worse.

"Take that, Rocket." Jack slapped the polished surface of the bar with its intricate metal inlay. "Straight up front and I still got her to take it."

Rocket made an unhappy face, reaching for his wallet to throw some kind of money on the bar. "Go on, take it. I can admit, I'll never comprehend the depths of human stupidity." 

Gamora also looked suspiciously close to laughing at Sil; she supposed she was getting the answer to how Gamora worked so well on a team with Emperor Quill. Even Drax looked faintly amused.

Angela and Gamora were trading a kind of look over the assortment of knives and blaster parts that Sil had seen before they squared off against each other, but she was willing to bet this wasn't about to lead to sparring. It made Sil feel a little quietly wistful for her own neglected love life. She reached for the bottle and refilled her glass. She'd asked for regret, after all. 

Jack raised his drink to her in admiration. "Shit'll burn the shadows clean off you."

"I'm a little surprised to find you over here," Sil said. Jack's mantra since they'd picked him up had been, _I hate cosmic shit._

Jack took his throw. The knife buried its point in the target, joining the cluster at the centre. "Yeah, well, that psycho Venom showed up down on your ship wanting to talk with the Scarlet Spider, and I decided I wanted to be somewhere else."

No one had quite got it up to try prying Scarlet Spider away from the gladiators below decks after his little outburst. In fact, most of them would probably prefer he stayed down there until he got his act together. The last Sil had seen of him, he'd been crouched over the exit of the large gymnasium where everyone had been taking turns tossing each other around, tensed like he was going to murder anybody who came near the doors. He hadn't even taken a turn in the ring. 

It had been convincing enough to make an impression on a room full of hardened killers. Sil did not envy anyone trying to have a conversation with him. The guy might need a slap upside the head, but that didn't make doing it a good idea.

"Whatever that's about."

"Don't know, don't care," Jack said grimly. "The Guardians have been great, but it is so good to see humans again. I just cannot escape this cosmic shit."

Sil finally recognised the look on Jack's face as homesickness. "Someone waiting for you back home?" 

"About three years and several million light-years ago," Jack said glumly. "You? Never mind; the look on your face says it all."

Sil was about to ask him what, exactly, he thought her face was saying when the door opened again and Rich came through, helmet tucked into his belt and face grey with fatigue. He had no trouble figuring out how to sit on the oddly shaped furniture.

"Hey, Rich," Sil said, since she didn't think he'd noticed her. 

"Oh, hey, Sil. Making friends?"

Sil held up her glass. "I'm not sure yet."

"Blue blazes, Gamora already has you drinking that shit? She shotgunned me with it once, and I thought I was going to die. Then I thought I was going to die of embarrassment."

Gamora looked smug but didn't say anything. Rocket sent another knife whizzing through the air.

"How did everything go today?" Sil asked.

"I left Quill to be diplomatic with Ronan and Gladiator, so I expect the shooting to start soon. But all everyone wanted to talk about was how horrible I look, so I decided to split."

"In that case, you look like the backside of a dead Badoon," said Rocket.

"And you look like a hat my grandfather used to own," Jack told him. 

Angela, who had been drilling Rich with a penetrating stare, was diverted to look at Rocket. "I cannot imagine the appeal of such an article."

Rocket smoothed his fur vainly. "Are you kidding? Look at this coat." 

Sil took another sip of her hroniss, exploring the violent burning sensation. "You look like you could use a drink," she told Rich.

"I'm not supposed to."

Sil grinned. "I won't tell if you won't."

A look of pure longing crossed Rich's face. "If I know Quill, he's got something like beer stashed around here somewhere."

"Coming right up," Jack said, pushing off the bar and turning to scour the inventory. 

"We were hoping Ronan might be able to help contain the tear. Thanks," Rich added as Jack handed him a glass of frothy amber liquid, then settled on this side of the bar. He took a sip and sighed, some of the tension going out of his shoulders. "Unfortunately, the Universal Weapon isn't really a precision instrument. It picked some stuff up, though. The best idea we've got so far is to see if Wendell and I can close it working together." 

"I am Groot."

"Yeah, well, here's hoping." Sil still couldn't tell if Rich actually understood the tree or he was just amusing himself. 

"Above my pay-grade," Jack said decisively.

"Still haven't managed to get home, huh?" Rich asked sympathetically.

Jack sighed. "When Quill showed up, he told me I just couldn't catch a break and then laughed for five minutes straight. I thought he was going to make himself sick." 

"And how have you been, Gamora?" Rich asked carefully.

Sil suppressed a groan. She'd come up here to avoid getting in the middle of whatever was going on between Nita and Faira. She knew Rich well enough to recognise his awkward sexual floundering, though. He and Nita had seemed solid for a while, but in general the boy seemed to have trouble figuring out what he wanted. Although that cautious tone might also have been because Gamora was about to let fly at the target with a razor-edged knife. 

Gamora made her throw to an admiring murmur from Angela, who was flipping her own knife absently as she waited her turn. She hitched one shoulder in a shrug that looked almost—uncomfortable. "Keeping busy. Although things quieted down some after the Fault was sealed."

"Except for reality fracturing," Angela amended.

"And the Builder War," Drax added.

"And Thanos showing up again," Rocket chimed in, eliciting snarls of dislike from both Drax and Gamora.

"And the Black Vortex," Gamora said, indicating what was _not_ in fact, the shadow of her cloak. 

"Wow," Rich said.

"Don't look at me," Sil said. "We just got into a fistfight with the Eternals."

Rich turned to stare at her. 

"No, really." 

"Okay. Well, at least you haven't been bored, I guess." Rich directed a thousand-yard-stare into his empty beer mug. Maybe this was all coming on a little fast. Sil leaned across to snag his glass and poured them both another round.

"You should see Gamora's idea of a spa day," Rocket told him. 

Angela hummed a happy sound of remembered satisfaction and sank another knife deep into the target. The goal of the contest seemed to be to aim for the smallest gap possible without the knife bouncing off, or possibly to be the first to split the target down the middle. 

"I have always found the blood of my enemies to be an excellent exfoliant," Gamora said serenely. 

"—Ah. That makes more sense," said Rich.

Sil sympathised. She remembered Nita bouncing from street fights to pedicures, too; but the idea of Gamora letting someone put cucumber slices on her eyes just somehow overmatched her credulity. 

"Oh, is that why you ladies used to go into fights half-naked?" Rocket asked. "Not that I'm complaining, mind you."

"If your margin of victory is your clothing, you have more serious problems," said Angela. "Although it's a shame I missed seeing it."

"You haven't seen enough?" Gamora asked her mildly. 

"'Enough' is an unacceptably inexact measurement unless related to a pre-determined quota." 

"And what's _that_ supposed to mean?" Rich complained, looking like the conversation had left him behind at the turn and he wasn't sure he wanted to catch up.

"That she can't get enough of me."

Gamora was clearly fishing for a reaction, although her tone was strangely mild. Angela's gaze was fixed on her intently, her expression hard to read. Judging by Rich's face, the conversation had just backed up right over him. 

Gamora turned to Angela first, despite having targeted Rich. Well, Angela had started it. Scoping out the competition? That had clearly been a challenge. Sil didn't think Gamora would put up with being fought over, which was just as well. Everybody said that Rich was packing some serious heat these days; but Sil had seen Angela fight when she was only half-trying, and she didn't think Rich was up for it.

Gamora and Angela locked glowing eyes. It was a tense moment. 

Well, Sil decided, there was at least one silver lining. Scenes like this proved her own romantic history was not the most screwed up in the superhero world. Her dead at least stayed dead.

"This is between Richard-human and myself. If you have a problem with that, you can fight me," said Gamora finally. 

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, who's fighting anyone?" Rich asked. 

Drax gave him a look like he was simple. "They like the fighting, too, Rider."

Angela stood. "I am not going to fight either of you." The _yet_ hung unspoken in the air. 

Gamora watched her walk out, ribbons snapping petulantly behind her. Rich watched her watching. Sil drank some more; the horrible scorching sensation wasn't getting any better, but she must have been getting drunk because she was starting to enjoy it anyway. 

"You didn't have to do that, you know," Rich said.

Gamora levelled a look at him that had probably killed before. "You are still capable of being more infuriatingly stupid than any other being of my acquaintance."

She rose to her feet in a fluidly graceful movement and exited in a swirl of cape.

"You say that, but there's no way I beat Quill!" Rich called after her.

Drax tilted his head judiciously. "Well, that's true."

Rocket nodded. "But it's pretty close." 

 

_The_ New Wundagore III  
_Surface_

"Aw, hell. What do _you_ want?"

"You seemed upset, before. I thought you could use someone to talk to," Venom said. Kaine had run into him in the corridor and kept walking in the hopes that if he ignored Venom, he'd go away. No such luck. Obviously, Kaine needed to start activating his suit's invisibility whenever he went anywhere.

Kaine stared at him, but it didn't seem to be a joke. "Well, that was a stupid idea." 

"I know what it's like to lose someone. Your team leader—" 

Kaine was honestly surprised with his self-restraint that he hadn't already knocked Venom down the corridor, although his fists were clenched at his sides. _Get out of my way, you idiot._ "I'm not discussing my personal life with you."

Kaine had been itching to tear someone limb from limb all day, except he had Vance's stupid voice in his head telling him that violence wasn't always the answer. He'd watched, envious, as others had beat their tension out on each other, finding release in action. Kaine knew better. His anger would only feed upon itself, mounting until the monster it unleashed in him was crushed and he rose again still broken from its broken body, angry and powerless and unable to end anything. 

"Look—"

"Get out of my way," Kaine snarled, shoving past him.

The suit did something. Venom stumbled and clutched at his head, symbiote writhing. 

_What the fuck?_ It was one of the new suits from Peter; he must have added shit. If there was one thing Peter was completely incapable of, it was leaving well-enough alone. 

The symbiote retreated from Venom's face like pudding under a blow-dryer. Kaine felt the same spark of familiarity he'd had before, seeing him in the tiny universe, and buried it. He wasn't interested in Peter's memories or Peter's friends. There was enough of his own crap to deal with.

"Hey, hey! What's going on?"

Speedball, great. Just what had been missing to make his day complete. Kaine let his arm drop. The suit stopped...whatevering. 

"Nothing."

Baldwin looked between them. "Are you sure? Because if he's back on brains, that's a thing we need to know about."

"What are you going to do, bounce at me?" Venom asked crankily as he pulled himself back together.

Baldwin got an odd expression on his face. "Believe me, I've had a _lot_ of experience dealing with Venom."

Venom huffed in exasperation. "How many times do I have to say it? New guy: not crazy. Your friend there's the one with the problem. I just wanted to talk." 

"Okay, well, anyone expecting to have a civil conversation with the Scarlet Spider is definitely crazy," Baldwin said. "You should try setting more realistic goals, like world peace or becoming a ballerina."

Venom bristled at that as much as Kaine, but got himself under control. He huffed an aggravated sigh. 

"You're right; maybe I should."

Venom turned and stalked off. All right. Figuring he was safe from pursuit, Kaine started back on his original course. Baldwin let him go.


	17. Chapter 17

_The_ Resolute Duty  
_Orbit_

Quill had done it. The freaking Shi'ar were here, and Chris had missed his window to get out of town. He hadn't even been allowed to fly up here himself in case someone registered his energy signature. Waiting for this morning was cutting it kind of close in Chris's book, even though _Wundagore_ 's sleeping arrangements were a lot more comfortable than the _Resolute_ 's mostly-empty barracks. 

Also generally less boring. The Novas were a lot more regulation than knowing Rich would lead a guy to imagine. They rotated in pairs through upside and downside duties. At least they let Chris sit up on the bridge with them while they stared at unchanging and indecipherable control readouts. Even so, he felt a little incarcerated. It made him twitchy.

It didn't help that they were all acting weird around him, and he couldn't figure out why. Chris knew these guys. You'd think they'd at least be a little grateful to him for his—rather significant—role in locating and retrieving Rich. It wasn't his fault he was stuck up here getting in their way.

_They're hiding something; I know it._ Every bucket-headed one of them was acting extremely shifty. And they weren't telling Chris whatever it was, which meant they'd probably been ordered not to. That meant either the Worldmind had gone bananas again or it was Rich. 

Chris kept trying and failing to think of innocent reasons for Rich to be hiding things from him. It would be an excellent chance for him to practice getting in tune with the Datasong, keep track of the Raptors even if he was stuck here for the duration, except for how choppy it was in this region of space. 

It was like having the 4G on his phone constantly going in and out, or maybe the feedback was just making him extra cranky on a subliminal level. Still, Chris told himself he'd wait and ask Rich about it.

So Chris waited, watching the clock. The Novas changed shifts again, and Chris was starting to regret not grabbing that deck of cards he'd seen on _Wundagore_ when he had the chance. 

When Rich finally got in it was late, and no one would let Chris see him. He blew Chris off again in the morning, and it wasn't like Chris could follow him.

Enough was enough. Chris waited until the big confabulation down on the iceball broke up again that afternoon. Most of the Novas came back topside in the shuttle, again without Rich. When Morrow and Lindy, who had drawn the evening shift standing guard over Quasar, went to fly it back down, Chris stepped through the hatch after them. 

"I want to grab a few things from the other ship," Chris explained. "And catch Rich before he has a chance to rocket off somewhere again."

Lindy exchanged a look with Morrow and shrugged. 

Morrow turned back to his pre-flight. "I get it; we're just not exciting enough for you."

"Don't worry; I'm sure I won't be able to stay away," Chris replied drily.

 

_The_ New Wundagore III  
_Surface_

"His coming out here saved your bacon, Rich," Nita was saying. "We can't leave him in the lurch."

Rich rubbed the bridge of his nose, after a brief false start, with his left hand. _Dammit._ "And we're not going to. Rob's isolated the fissure where he went through. He's looking; he just hasn't gotten anywhere with it yet. That's all I get from him these days: a long string of technobabble with a 'not' at the front. Not this, not that, don't get your blood pressure up over it, Rich—"

"Oh, there you are." 

It was one of Robbie and Vance's new recruits, Mark something. He looked a little hesitant about approaching them. Some of these kids were pretty green. Like, greener than Gamora's skin tone.

"Hey, Mark," Nita greeted him.

"What's up?" Rich asked.

"Did Darkhawk find you yet?" 

"Darkhawk?" _Uh-oh._

"Yeah, he was looking for you," Mark said. 

"Oh, no. Tell me he didn't—"

_Richard Rider, it it critical you pay attention at this time,_ Worldmind broke in. _Centurion Rael reports that Darkhawk encountered Minister Araki in the hall outside the primary research lab. The Minister sent a signal to the Shi'ar flagship. Gladiator is already back inside the atmosphere._

"Dammit, I told him to stay put," Rich said, breaking into a run.

_Yeah. Your friend's not very bright, is he?_ Worldmind asked.

"Rich, what's going on?" Nita asked. The only reason she wasn't outrunning him was because she didn't know where they were going. 

"Chris. Gotta get...out of here," Rich panted. 

He found a stairwell and flew over the railing, then down the middle. Nita jumped after him, leaving the poor rookie, who was evidently bound by gravity, in the dust. 

Flying was a lot easier than running—blue blazes, but he was out of shape—so Rich stayed high once they were back out in the corridors and zoomed in over the heads of the gathered crowd.

"Rich!" Chris exclaimed in relief.

"Nova Prime," Araki broke off whatever she'd been saying and latched on to him. "I insist you take this person into custody, to be rendered up to the Shi'ar Imperium, where he will face the charge of high treason for the assassination of Majestrix Lilandra Neramani."

Rich threw a quick glance around the growing crowd of scientists and young superheroes and did some fast thinking. 

"That is exactly what I am going to do. Worldmind, gravimetric bubble please."

Chris's wild lunge came up short against the golden barrier that sprang to life around him, lifting him from his feet. Rich made further practical use of it to force his way through the onlookers on down towards the hangar where the _Resolute _'s shuttle was parked.__

____

____

"I thought you were my friend!" Chris pounded his fists against the barrier. 

"Rich, what are you doing?" Nita hissed in his ear. 

"I am getting Chris out of here before Gladiator punches through one of these bulkheads to kill him in the face and destroys reality as we know it," Rich muttered through his teeth, conscious that their audience was still with them. 

"You had better know what you're doing," she muttered back. 

Rich just hoped he was fast enough. "Boy, I hope so. Worldmind, please tell the Shi'ar that we've got the fugitive and they can stop freaking out." 

"I cannot _believe_ you! Rich! Fuck!" 

They'd made it as far as the hangar and Rich was almost ready to relax just a little tiny bit when the bay doors snapped open and Gladiator came barrelling through in all his purple fury. 

"Majestor, the Nova Corps has this under—" Rich began loudly. 

Chris, who, okay, had reason to be freaked out, switched instantly to a Hulkbuster-looking version of his armour and popped the lightweight field Rich had been using. 

"Assassin! I will kill you _with my bare hands!_ " Gladiator roared. 

"Worldmind, I'm going to need everything you've got to put a wall between those two." 

_You know what throwing that much power around could do,_ Worldmind said. She was already projecting stress-lines onto his HUD, where some of them were glowing brighter just from this much activity. 

"I'm not going to let him murder Chris. We need to shut this down fast," Rich said grimly. 

"I didn't kill anyone!" Chris was floating just off the ground, trying to circle around to the exit. It wasn't going to work. 

"You will be made to answer for your crimes!" 

"Everybody calm down!" Rich yelled, shaping the power that came readily to his hand. 

Someone muscled past him, and it was—oh; it was Robbie. _That might work._ Nita started to follow him, but Rich caught her and held her back. 

"Stop," Robbie echoed Rich's cry for reason. He didn't shout. 

"This does not concern you, human." 

"Yeah, Robbie, stay out of it." 

Robbie put a restraining hand on Chris's armour and turned to face Gladiator. "If you've got a problem, we can deal with it; but you seriously need to chill out." 

"You ally yourself with this criminal? Then you can die with him." 

And Gladiator hurled himself across the bay at deafening speed, his full momentum behind his fist. The fabric of reality strained around him. Robbie just stood there. 

" _Robbie—!_ Let go of me, you jerk!" 

Nita struggled to get free. It was like trying to keep a hold of an eel with fists. Rich had to resort to cheating to hold Nita back, but she hadn't seen Robbie fight since Stamford. 

"Look! Just look, Nita. He's okay." 

Robbie was fine. Gladiator hit him and he didn't even flinch. He just stood there while Gladiator stalled on impact, then reflexively recoiled out of arm's reach, looking down at his fist like it had betrayed him. 

There was a stunned silence. 

Robbie held his ground. The really striking thing about his Penance powers as compared to his regular powers was the stillness. Speedball was perpetual motion personified. He never stopped moving and he never stopped talking. 

When Rich had faced him, Penance had been silent and still. More than that, unmoveable. Half the time he'd attack without even lifting his arm. You would never have known it was the same person under that spiked mask. 

In ratty jeans and a tee-shirt, it was almost more surreal. _At least he's lost the facial piercings._ Energy crackled around Robbie for a second, then vanished. The red-lining cracks around him quieted. He waited for Gladiator to meet his eyes. 

"Are you ready to talk now?" 

"Hey—hey, stop!" Chris shouted. 

Everyone turned to look at him. Chris pointed across at the hangar doors, but he had the good sense to stay where he was. 

Chris made a frustrated noise. "Stop him, he's getting away!" 

Rich looked where he was pointing. The only person on that side of the hangar was the Shi'ar Prime Minister, Araki. Who was...female. 

"Uh, Chris, that's—" 

"A flagrant attempt at distraction," Gladiator growled through clenched teeth. 

" _Talon_. That's Talon! He's in disguise, you moron." 

Gladiator's glare was about half a step away from literally setting the air on fire. Chris seemed to realise that he had gone too far. "Uh." 

"Disguise or not, where's she going?" Rich asked, already in flight. 

Nita was hard on his heels, still looking kind of steamed. He'd deal with that later. Now, Araki had broken into a run, skirts bannering out behind her as she ran for the still-open hangar doors. Something streaked past Rich on his left, trapping Araki between them and the several hundred foot drop to the icy surface below. Starhawk hovered just out of arm's reach but didn't say anything. 

"What _are_ you?" Araki asked as Rich and Nita caught up with them. 

"I am one who knows," Starhawk responded. "Your perception is flawed, Raptor. You could not begin to understand." 

"No. I can feel you through the Datasong. Everything is open to me. Our future. Your past. I see— I see—ah!" 

The individual Rich was increasingly certain was _not_ Prime Minister Araki clutched at her head. She straightened, and the air rippled around her in waves until Rich was looking at a suit of Darkhawk armour with a blue glow emanating from its visor and the amulet set in its carapace. 

"Majestor!" it called to Gladiator, who was still keeping a laser-emitting eye on Chris. "We share a common goal. You will come to realise this, in time." It turned its attention back to Starhawk and Rich, who was calculating the gravimetrics he'd need to clip its wings. "Do not attempt to apprehend me. If I am followed or attacked, I will breach one of the fissures." 

Talon stepped backward out of the ship and blasted out into the perpetual night. Rich ground his teeth in frustration as he watched the Raptor diminish into a pinprick of light, then disappear entirely.

He exchanged a hard look with Gladiator. "I think Robbie's right. It's time we had a talk." 

They found an empty spot along one of the walls. Someone had at least gotten the air seal doors closed before they all froze to death. Starhawk followed them, which didn't exactly thrill Rich, but she was the only other expert they had on these assholes, and Gladiator wasn't very likely to listen to Chris. 

From where they stood, Gladiator still had a good line of sight on Chris, who had downshifted his armour but hadn't gone so far as to banish it entirely. The New Warriors had closed ranks around him, probably feeling extra protective giving what had happened to Vance. 

There was a lot of firepower standing around waiting to see how this conversation went. _If we're lucky, they'll wait._ Gamora and Angela had still been downside when Chris went and stuck his foot in it, plus half the Guardians from the future. 

Gladiator's face was dark. "How long has the Nova Corps been harbouring this fugitive from Shi'ar justice?" 

"I ran into him at the Fault; but he was injured early by one of those things from the Cancerverse, and I lost track of him during the excitement. But I've got to tell you, I don't think Darkhawk is the guy you want." 

"He murdered Lilandra Neramani, a great woman and true leader. I saw him do it. The only thing left to decide is the manner in which I wring the life from his worthless body." 

Rich held up his hand in a placating gesture. "O-kay, let's start somewhere else, then. What do you know about this Fraternity of Raptors? It seemed like you'd run into them before, too." 

"The Fault," Gladiator said shortly. "Talon disguised himself and infiltrated the Imperial Guard for his own ends. It would seem to be a pattern with him." 

"What transpired?" Starhawk asked. 

Gladiator shot her an unfriendly glance but answered. "We too were set upon by the monstrous perversions of the other universe. Talon said that if I would allow him to transform two of my people, they would help us to fight our way free." 

"So you gave him two _Imperial Guardsmen_? Blue blazes." Rich wasn't actually sure it mattered who was plugged into the amulets other than, apparently, _not human_ , but still. Sheesh. 

"The threat to the universe was dire. We—they live to serve the imperium." Gladiator's tone was clipped. 

"Okay, okay. So you know the Raptor and the host are separate." 

"Talon claimed there was no reversing the process. But I fail to see the significance." 

"It is very significant, Majestor," Starhawk told him. "Designate Powell has achieved something previously unknown in your timeframe. When the Raptor spirit forced him aside, he managed to escape his imprisonment in the Null and wrest back control." 

"And what do you know about it?" Gladiator asked. 

"Neramani suited the Raptors no more than did Vulcan. However, you command the respect of the populace as well as the complete loyalty of the Imperial Guard. To sway the Immortal Majestor is to secure influence over the Shi'ar for all of time. Accept the word of one who knows." 

"I will accept that all Raptors are duplicitous and not to be trusted." 

"Yes, that was the determination which led the Shi'ar to form the Imperial Guard and purge the Raptors six millennia ago," Starhawk replied placidly. 

"Okay, how about this?" Rich said. "Darkhawk will remain in the custody of the Nova Corps. We will allow the Shi'ar to interrogate him—and by interrogate, I mean _talk_ to, not torture—but I will not permit you to kill him out of hand." 

"Majestor," one of the Shi'ar interrupted diffidently. "They've found Minister Araki in her quarters under some form of hypnotic stasis." 

_I didn't want to interrupt your bullying the Shi'ar, but we've got incoming to balance out our outgoing,_ Worldmind said with a distinctly Kree enjoyment. 

Rich held up one finger and tapped his helmet to excuse himself for a minute. "What is it?" 

_Your buddy Quill. He requested that you "not start the party without him."_

"Little late for that," Rich muttered bitterly. 

_Quill also wanted me to tell you that he couldn't believe you were sending him to voicemail._

"Yeah, well, President Quill can suck it up," Rich said. 

The hangar doors slid open again, admitting Quill's shuttle, which touched down neatly beside the corps shuttle on which Chris had stowed away, starting this whole mess. Quill popped out before the hatch-ramp was fully extended, visibly armed and sweeping the bay with his gaze like he was expecting to drop into the middle of a mêlée. Ronan was only a step behind him, because obviously things weren't tense enough. 

"Well, I was going to say something dramatic and authoritative like, 'Stand down!' but you're not really stood up. So." Quill gave a piercing whistle. "Your attention please! I have just had word from Captain Marvel; she's been recalled to Earth. Thanos has escaped." 


	18. Chapter 18

_Korvac's dimensional prison_

Vance felt sick, and he didn't think it was just the concussion. The throwing up again was probably the concussion, though, as if he needed to lose even more dignity. 

He needed to get out of there. He just—he needed to get out of there. His mind was rejecting delivery on all of this, he couldn't think, he just needed to get out. 

Stumbling past Korvac and Carina, he fled out into the dazzling midday sun. The sidewalk wasn't smooth and even the way it had been on the way here, but when he stumbled and had to catch himself against a huge old maple, that wasn't why. Vance's feet remembered without thinking all the uneven places where tree roots had buckled and cracked it. It only made him feel sicker, and he had to pause again until his empty stomach stopped heaving. _Just a little farther._

There was a spot, a gap between the fence around one house's yard and the bushes around its neighbour's. Vance headed for it using the same muscle memory. The bushes were big, with places underneath where a kid could hide, or a couple kids, or a superhero who desperately needed some shade and didn't mind getting poked in the head by branches or having to curl into a shocky ball to fit.

_Get it together,_ Vance told himself. He was at enough of a disadvantage here without making this kind of display of weakness. But, fuck. Korvac was unfair enough under normal circumstances; Vance could hardly follow a thought from one end to another, let alone plot a viable course of action. 

He'd needed someplace quiet and sheltered, someplace not in that—that house; fine, he'd found that. Next, he needed time to get better. Vance couldn't do anything until his brains settled. 

Well, there was time. _The rest of my life._ No, he couldn't think like that. But what mattered now was that he had time, and so he had everything he needed. He could stop trying to deal with things and just sit here miserably until he started feeling a little less miserable. Maybe if he went to sleep, it would all turn out to have been a nightmare. 

When Vance woke up, it was raining. The ground was cool and damp against his face. An irregular dribble of water was falling on his temple, probably what had awakened him.

He experienced a moment of confusion— _where am I? what am I doing here?_ —and a growing sense of alarm. Disorientation was a bad sign with a concussion. But he remembered he had a concussion, whereas this wasn't anyplace he'd expect to wake up. Maybe the confusion was just confusion? _Sure. Optimism. Why not?_

Vance pushed himself cautiously upright. His head throbbed in protest when it came in contact with a low branch, but that seemed to be mostly on the outside. 

Raindrops spattered on the leaves above him, causing them to bow and ripple. This was familiar. He had come here. Korvac had blitzed him, and he'd freaked out, running to one of his old childhood hiding places like a scared kid.

_Which is exactly what I feel like._ Vance sat for a moment, watching the foliage undulate and listening to the hiss and _spak_ of the rain. It didn't make him dizzy or overwhelmed, so he guessed he was good for now. 

Time to test that out. Carefully, Vance parted the drooping branches of the forsythia with his hands and shouldered his way to his feet. 

He supposed the rain was Korvac's way of flushing him out. At least it was dimmer now. Vance tried to brush off the grass and mud, but his head protested bending over. He settled for wiping his face on his sleeve and running his hands through his hair to make sure there were no leaves stuck in it. 

Acknowledging that Korvac wasn't going to be impressed no matter what Vance did or looked like probably constituted a defeatist attitude, but he had to prioritise where to spend his energy. Korvac wasn't it.

Vance wandered through the streets, trying to marshal his thoughts. They were still disturbingly fuzzy. Like before, his feet still knew where to go, at least. It wasn't as comforting as it might have been.

Vance found what he was looking for, the gazebo in the park. Korvac really had recreated the whole town. No people, though; no cars on the streets. No one but...

"Carina, can I speak with you?" Vance politely asked the thin air in front of him.

"Vance. You seem...somewhat recovered," Carina greeted him dubiously, fading into view.

Well, trying to impress Carina wasn't very productive either. It was vaguely possibly that Vance could play on her sense of compassion, though. Good thing he couldn't help looking like he'd spent the night sleeping under a bush.

"I'm feeling a little better, thanks. Do you have a minute?"

"I'm afraid I cannot alter my decision. For the sake of all the universe, Michael must remain confined. I am willing to sacrifice my life in furtherance of that goal. From what I know of you, this aligns with your principles." 

Vance almost wanted to tell her that Korvac wasn't her responsibility. Carina had been an innocent, thrown ruthlessly into this conflict, which had now swallowed her life—and that was a lot, considering she was an immortal. But when she'd claimed her power and her ability to choose for herself, she'd chosen to do what she could. Despite himself, he had to admire her for that.

"I do, and under other circumstances, I'd be right there with you," Vance said. She wasn't very approachable, but she was right: that at least was something they had in common. "The problem is, Korvac isn't the only threat out there. I need to help my friends." 

"There is nothing I can do."

"There must be a way. I'm begging you. You want to make a difference? Well, so do I. But I'm more useful out there than I am stuck in this sick joke of Korvac's." Vance clamped his jaw shut and clenched his fist, dropping the hand he'd been gesticulating with to his side. He exhaled his frustration through his nose. _Keep it together, Vance._

Carina gave him a look full of pity, noticing how he swayed on his feet. _Great._ "And how much good do you really think you could do your friends in your present condition? I am sorry for the pain Michael is causing you. The grudge he bears you is...considerable. You have thwarted him in both the past and the future. But if you truly wish to help, please stop asking the impossible of me." 

And then she vanished as simply as she'd appeared, the look on her face sad but resolute. Vance sagged back against the gazebo railing, exhausted.

The thing was, Vance had thought he'd dealt with killing his father. One thing you had in prison, no matter how many distance learning courses you were taking, was time to think. Over and over, he'd replayed that day in his mind. His thoughts, his emotions, his entire childhood. Fear, desperation, anger, powerlessness, hurt, despair—he'd read books; he'd gone to counselling. He'd even travelled to the past and seen the pressures that had stifled and twisted his father's chances in life. 

As best he could, Vance had made his peace. He had never had better control over his powers. He had dedicated his life to doing the right thing, even when it was heart-breaking and terrifying and the world was falling apart around him. 

But he had never expected to find himself in this situation again. Korvac had him dead to rights. Vance knew Korvac wasn't his father, that nothing he could throw at him would make him so much as blink, and it simply didn't matter. He couldn't—couldn't even think of doing that again.

Korvac hadn't done this to protect himself; Carina was right. He'd done it to make Vance suffer. To turn him back into a trapped, angry kid and break him. _Yeah, Korvac knows me pretty well._

_Time to get to know Korvac._

 

_Nova Corps shuttle_   
_En route to Resolute Duty_

"Soooo," Chris said on their way back into orbit, breaking the prejudicially tense silence caused by the scary look on Rich's face. "If you weren't planning to hand me over to the Shi'ar, why has everyone been acting so weird?"

"Er." 

Robbie flushed bright pink and didn't look up from the controls. Qubit made a sound like someone stepping on a dial-up modem, which was his version of a nervous cough. Nita bit her tongue, although she was getting pretty close to slapping everyone involved. 

Lindy and Morrow had stayed down on the surface for their turn on Quasar watch. Rob, Irani, and Qubit had still been on _Wundagore_ working when Chris dropped in on them in what could only be described as a spectacular burst of stupidity. Nita and Rich had obviously been caught down there, too; but the rest of the corps was already topside. Lucky them. 

Rich cast a look around at his increasingly shifty centurions. "What's going on?"

"Well..." Rob started.

"Spit it out," Rich snapped.

Nita's temper flared. "Cool it, Rich."

"Nita, would you just stay out of this?" 

"Sure. Would you stick it up your—"

"Hey, hey," Rob interrupted loudly. "I will tell Rich what's going on, Nita, it's okay. Rich, calm down."

_Fat chance of that._ Steam was practically coming out his ears, and the energy vents on his uniform were glowing brighter than usual.

Rich turned his glare on his brother. "I am so _sick_ of people telling me to calm down." 

"And they say _I_ have anger management problems," Chris muttered.

"I do not believe you are helping," Irani told him.

Rob made a frustrated sound, pushing his glasses forcefully back up his nose. 

"Look, Rich, Chris, this is all just a big, stupid misunderstanding. Irani and Qubit told the rest of us what Chris said, about being able to save people from the amulets," Rob explained. "We were kind of waiting for a chance to bring it up with Rich and ask permission to investigate the possibility of rescuing Malik Tarcel. If, y'know, the Raptors came back and we could figure out which one he was."

"Oh," Chris said. He looked like he was going to die of embarrassment, if the Shi'ar didn't execute him first. _Good fucking grief._

"He thought it would be better to be upfront about it," Nita said pointedly.

Rich turned in the co-pilot's seat to scowl at her. "What does this have to do with you, anyway? You never even knew Tarcel."

"I'm part of this team, in case you haven't noticed," Nita replied. "When you up and disappeared for two years, I stuck around. I may have hung onto my fashion sense, but what's important to the corps is important to me." 

"We don't even know if Tarcel is one of the Raptors," Rob picked up the thread of a debate they'd had a dozen times now. "And who is the Xandarian?"

"Statistically, any number of Xandarians and retired members of the Corps would have been off-planet at the times when Xandar was destroyed, as Jesse Alexander was," Irani said rationally, apparently not minding that she was repeating herself.

" _Do_ you have a way of ascertaining the designates' identities?" Qubit asked Chris.

"Well, I guess. I mean, it's complicated." Chris rubbed his face. 

"Out with it; we may as well do this now, too," Rich said. 

Chris exhaled a large breath. It came out kind of like a groan.

"C'mon, Chris; please."

Sure; to _Chris_ he said please. Nita sank back in her seat, arms crossed, and glared.

"It's—when I went off with Talon, the bastard kicked me out of the armour. I woke up in a crystal hanging from a big, freaky tree with thousands of other crystals in some other dimension. And yeah, I could move around and see who else was in there. But there were also hordes of slavering demons on my ass; and while I was stuck there, Razor was in control of the armour and killed Lilandra Neramani," Chris stressed firmly. 

Irani processed that. "So identification of the designates and banishing the Raptor spirit are separate procedures."

"Uh, yeah. But I don't know—I fucking thought I got Talon. I grabbed his amulet, I banished him, Jeeku came back. He—threw himself into an active starship drive core along with the crystal. It should have vaporised." Chris banged his fist on the arm of his chair. 

"It would seem there was a valid reason for the ancient Shi'ar to conceal the amulets instead of destroying them," Irani observed. 

"Looks like," Chris said, and now he was starting to sound cranky. 

"So you're saying there's no way to destroy these bozos," Nita restated. 

"Think how I feel." 

"Aaand we're docking. Can I please suggest that we pick this back up in the morning?" Rob asked.

"You guys want to lock me up somewhere?" asked Chris.

Rich sighed. "No, of course not. Just—don't leave the ship again before I get this sorted out."

Chris vented an angry hiss but stalked out into the shuttle bay. Irani and Qubit hesitated in the hatch, but Rich irritably waved them away from where he was still slumped in the co-pilot's seat. 

"C'mon, Rich. I'll get you—" 

Rich groaned, letting his head fall back. "Just beat it, will you?"

Rob waved his fists in the air in a controlled paroxysm, looking like he'd rather beat Rich, whose eyes were closed, and so remained oblivious. Relaxing his fingers into something less claw-like, Rob stomped out, too. 

Nita waited. Rich did look pretty knackered, sitting there with one arm hacked off and looking like a skeleton. 

"Are you waiting to yell at me, too?" he asked without opening his eyes. 

"Since when has the toothpick been able to do _that_?" Nita asked. 

"Since—it's a long story. He's always been hard to hurt, you know that."

There it was again; that hesitation. Nita knew that whatever had happened in this timeline had been bad or she and Thrash wouldn't have died, but no one seemed willing to give her details. Not even Rob would give her a straight answer, and now this. What did everyone think was going to freak her out more than dying? Had she turned into a super-villain or something?

"That's bullshit. What happened to you, Rich? You never used to be able to stand it when Thrash pulled this secretive leader crap, and I'm not putting up with it either."

"Ugh, Nita, babe, do we have to do this right now?"

"Don't you 'babe' me."

"Nita—"

"No. I am sick of this! It's been long enough, Rich. I need to know." 

She was shouting. Rich was looking at her like—like—she didn't even know. Like he was about to cry. Or fall over or something. 

"Never mind. Let's just get you to bed. Obviously, I should be yelling at Rob instead." And a long time before this. But Rob hadn't been in the best shape, emotionally, after the Fault closed—Nita either, really; and she hadn't had the heart to risk sending the little geek into a complete nervous breakdown. All the familiar faces were just bringing home how much everything had changed. 

"No, it's fine." Rich shook her off when she went to help him stand.

"Rob was right, this can wait until—" 

Rich interrupted her impatiently. "Just go. I'll be fine."

"Don't be—"

"Just go!" Rich snapped.

Nita left, wishing the shuttle hatch was something she could slam behind her. 

 

_The_ New Wundagore III  
 _Surface_

The talking went on for a while. Thanos was apparently bad news? Anyway, the aliens had been side-tracked from arguing over whether to tar and feather Darkhawk. 

They were all too busy to bother Kaine, anyway; although he didn't go far in case this turned back into a fight. Miracle of miracles, they evidently managed to keep it together, somehow. 

Personally, Kaine still thought it was pointless. All calling for help had gotten them so far was almost blown up, and the news kept getting worse. This was all just delaying the inevitable.

Kaine didn't know how long it was before someone came into this increasingly dusty computer lab. Maybe they wanted to use the instruments. Maybe Aracely had come back to tell him to get his head out of his ass.

Kaine didn't move from his position stuck partway up the deep sill of one of the ubiquitous windows in the out of the way lab; obviously he wasn't out of the way enough or high enough. He hadn't bothered to turn the lights on, so the intruder was backlit by the hallway outside. 

Outside was mostly darkness, an unremittingly black void that was a perfect match for Kaine's mood. Down closer to the ground, the ship's lights illuminated the wild contortions of ice that made up the planet's surface; but up here the windows might as well have been painted black. 

"Aha. Aracely was getting worried about you." It was Baldwin.

"Aracely always knows where I am."

"Which would be how I found you." Baldwin came the rest of the way inside and flicked on the lights.

Kaine grunted. "I guess I know how you handled Venom now."

"Yeah, I used to put the thunder in Thunderbolts."

Baldwin shook his head and pulled a chair around to sit on it backwards and cross his arms over the back, propping his chin on them. He'd changed clothes, so it might have been morning. It was hard to keep track out here, and Kaine wasn't sleeping much.

Kaine never slept that much, and it wasn't like he and Vance lived together, although there was getting to be a bunch of Vance's stuff— 

So, okay, he missed Vance; but the point was, he couldn't really miss _sleeping_ with him. Restlessness would usually overtake Kaine at some point during the night, and he'd slip out of bed to avoid disturbing him.

You'd maybe think he'd resent being driven out of his own room, but Kaine had never really minded. It had been comforting in an odd way, knowing that Vance was slumbering peacefully back in one of their beds. It didn't seem to bother Vance either, falling asleep together but waking up alone. He'd seemed...happy. Not that Kaine had much experience with happy.

Kaine worried that he wasn't giving him enough. He didn't know enough about how these things worked. And now, when Vance actually needed help, there was nothing he could do. Peter was the genius and the hero; once again, Kaine just couldn't cut it.

"Vance and I were New Warriors together for a long time; but when we were young, we were never really that close," Baldwin said, interrupting the downward spiral of Kaine's thoughts. "We'd hang out together now and then, but he had Angel, or he spent a lot of time with Rich and Nita. They were all older; I was just a kid.

"And then w—and then Nitro blew up Stamford. Nita died. Thrash died. I survived because of my powers, but it messed me up. I mean, I had a lot of help doing it, but we're talking work release from a padded room. I didn't want anyone to ever see me again; they didn't deserve to have that inflicted on them. I didn't belong in the world anymore. Everyone else should be able to move on, and I should never be able to forget. The debt I owe those people is too big to ever be repaid." Baldwin rubbed absent-mindedly at one of the scars on his arm. 

"When Vance found me again, he reached past the wall I'd put up between myself and everything else. He looked at me and he didn't see Stamford and all of the horrible things that happened because of it. He saw a person. He saw his friend who was hurting. We stood by him when they sent him to prison, but that was nothing in comparison."

"Is this that hero war people keep mentioning?" Kaine asked. "I never knew what was behind it."

Baldwin boggled at him like he'd grown another head, momentarily distracted. "How did you _miss_ the Civil War?"

Kaine shrugged. "I was a mentally unstable assassin degenerating at the cellular level incarcerated in a nameless government medical facility."

"I'm surprised the Thunderbolts didn't snap you up," Baldwin mused. "Someone was probably afraid the Spider-connexion would send Osborn for a loop. Osborn was—you know those swinging trashcan lids? They look stable, but you poke them and they go spinning around?"

Kaine snorted. 

"Yeah."

Kaine was an asshole, but he wasn't fucking stupid. He had enough brains not to suggest blowing up reality again right now, anyway, even if he still thought it was the most practical plan. He'd been in worse places than limbo.

Baldwin didn't seem to have any trouble following his train of thought, or maybe he'd just been talking to Aracely, because after a moment he said, "You know, there's no guarantee you'd survive."

Kaine didn't respond.

"And there's no guarantee _she'll_ survive," Baldwin added. 

_Dammit._

Baldwin rested his forehead on his arms for several long minutes, and Kaine thought the kid might hate all this as much as he did. Eventually, he looked up and pushed himself to his feet.

"I'll tell Aracely you're not ready to talk," he said and left, flicking off the lights on his way out.

Kaine watched him go, not sure what had just happened but feeling deeply unsettled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year!


	19. Chapter 19

_Site of the tear_

"Are you ready?"

Rich took a deep breath. Despite the heaters in the bunker, the air was still bitterly cold. "Yes."

Cold was still a million times better than unfeeling. He could feel his heart pounding under the weight of the eyes of everyone assembled on him. 

_Are you sure?_ Worldmind asked.

Another chair had been brought in, too; Robbie was afraid he'd fall on his ass. Rich sat and told himself to stop being so ridiculous. If everything went well, this wouldn't take long at all. And if it didn't work, it would only be a few days. He wouldn't be stuck. He wasn't alone. Worldmind would signal Wendell if anything went wrong and he needed to take over again. 

"You sure, bro?" Rob echoed. 

Rich glanced at Nita, the one person in attendance who wasn't staring at him. She hadn't met his eyes all morning. He chose to take it as a good sign she'd shown up at all. 

Gamora was also here, minus the mirror-plated Angela. Rich felt a little weird about that, but he hadn't had a lot of success sorting it out so far. Not really the time now. 

"Yeah. Let's get this over with," Rich said aloud. 

_Commencing in three...two...one._

Worldmind eased him into it slowly. To start out with, they were going to be working to support what Wendell was doing with the quantum bands. The power came easily, but it always came easily. He still had to pay close attention. This construct was different than the one they'd used before.

Wendell wasn't quite as out of it as Rich when he'd been plugged in. The Worldmind was smart; but Rich was only human, while the quantum bands were, well, cosmic. The upshot was that they'd been able to fill him in on what they wanted to do ahead of time so everybody was on the same page.

Rob and the other eggheads had cooked up a plan. It went something like this: it took the entire output of the Nova Force or the quantum bands to keep the tear from ripping open any further. Combined, they might be able to force it closed. That would give the scientists time to find a more permanent solution to the rest of the damage in this region. If this were Chandilar or something, that part would be more urgent; but this was the most deserted, out-of-the-way, untrafficked corner of the cosmos Rich had ever stumbled across. The literal end of the universe was a more popular destination spot. They'd have time to figure something out.

That time they'd switched off powers was turning out to be useful, too. Rich had an idea of what the quantum bands could do, so he could help the Worldmind respond to the metaphorical way Wendell manifested their power. It was like sewing the fabric of space-time together. The Nova Force could be the hands holding the edges even and even be one strand in the thread, but Wendell was wielding the needle. Did you wield a needle? This was obviously not Rich's metaphor.

_Whoa, Rider. Hold up,_ Worldmind said. 

The flow of calculations changed to something static. Wendell paused, too.

_It's not going to work._

What? It was plainly working. The tiny, unoccupied sliver of Rich's brain was confused.

_Closing this tear is putting strain on the others. Richard, we're going to have to go back to maintaining the stopgap._

Worldmind never called him Richard. She was worried. Well, he'd be fine. Rich hadn't wanted to leave Wendell down here on his own for too long, but Rob had been insanely stubborn about making sure he was recovered before taking over again. Rich wasn't going to freak out this time. It would be fine. Not fun, but fine.

_I gotta hand it to you, Rider, you are one tough flarker,_ Worldmind said. _Get ready; Quasar is about to disengage._

 

_The_ New Wundagore III

Everyone was wearing expressions of grim determination when they gathered next. It put Geena in mind of the session of the Hideaway Parliament where all this had started. Seeing Gladiator was maxiweird, too, on a level with seeing baby-Vance walking around with his face uncovered. _Poor scrod._

The attendance at these meetings had been dropping since the first day as the brawn let the brains get down to business. Starhawk had persisted in dragging Geena along. She spent a _lot_ a lot of time getting scanned, and the rest was just hoping the tek-talk would shake loose some innate understanding of the problem. Geena thought this was overly optimistic, but Starhawk was supposed to know, right?

Bored was better than a labour camp any day. But the Guardians—Geena's Guardians, excuse you, little gun-happy rodent thing, the _original_ Guardians of the Galaxy—were getting restless. It was one thing to say time was falling apart and needed to be fixed, except that if you stopped to think about it, fixing time wasn't automatically the sort of problem you could shoot in the face. 

Martinex was a scientist, and Starhawk was...whatever he was. The rest of them were basically extra. Yondu meditated. Vance was pissed off because they hadn't found the other him yet. Peter Quill was possibly spending too much time with the other Peter Quill. 

Nikki and Geena hadn't been sure about each other at first, but they had discovered a shared passion for maxipowered guns that they had bonded over. Nikki was all the impatient and quick-tempered Mercurian stereotypes, but also tough and funny, and she didn't treat Geena like a kid. 

She also ribbed Geena mercilessly every time Charlie left the room. At least she waited? Geena was a kid. She was grown up enough to fight, but that didn't take a lot of growing up. You fought or you got maxed: it was hard-wired. The other stuff was a lot more intimidating.

Almost everyone had piled into the big meeting room for this one. Word of this morning's failed test had spread quickly. The tear hadn't been closed; there were whispers that it _couldn't_ be. The Nova Prime had replaced Quasar again in containing it, and Geena could see in everyone's faces it was starting to come home to them that this problem wasn't going to lend itself to a quick, easy fix. They were all going to be out here for a long time yet. 

The already subdued murmur of voices died out when past-Quill got to his feet. He immediately undercut the effect of his formal appearance and the solemn mood by shushing a last pocket of conversation. Geena thought she saw the Kree Emperor roll his eyes. 

Quill clapped his hands together. "So. Busy day. Stuff has happened. People are on edge. Our first plan may not have worked, but come on. The first plan never works. Anybody have any other ideas? Quasar, you got a good look at what we're dealing with."

Geena hadn't seen Quasar at all except when it was her turn on watch duty. It had occurred to her that maybe standing around down there in the dark quiet watching someone trapped in stasis was another big element in the why of Vance's flarktastic mood. After spending a thousand years in stasis, it was the kind of thing that would strike close to home.

Quasar didn't look nearly so bad as the Nova Prime had after they'd pulled him out. Of course, he hadn't been down there anything like as long. He was another of these twenty-first century cape guys, not that they weren't all built for it, with short blond hair and spacer-pale skin put into sharp contrast by the black and scarlet of his costume. But what really caught the eye were the heavy metal cuffs he was wearing on his arms. The fist-sized oblong jewels in them literally glowed with an inner radiance. 

"This part of space is rife with cracks in reality. When Rich and I tried to close the tear that opened when he and some of your people from the future came through, the strain it put on all the other weak spots started to rip them open. If we'd kept going, we'd have had a hundred tears, all right on top of each other, until this entire region was shredded," Quasar said.

"Which was what Rider was trying to prevent in the first place." Martinex nodded, looking he had a bad taste in his mouth.

"Wounds in the fabric of space-time have been healed before. The Fault was closed," Ronan pointed out. "What makes this one different?"

"We think, at least in part, that it's because the Fault _was_ closed," Rob Rider answered. "We talk about the fabric of the universe. Well, the mathematical reality is fantastically more complex—"

Rob was interrupted by a pointed cough from his CO. "—but you're not going to go into that now, right?"

"Right, sir." Rob coloured. "Anyway, it's a fairly accurate metaphor. Whenever you rip and mend fabric, you lose a little bit. When the Fault was blown open and the Cancerverse poured through, we lost a _lot_. To make the edges meet again, the fabric of reality had to be pulled tight. Stretching it like that put strain on places like this, where it had already been weakened."

"If we can't mend it can we patch it?" Selah's face twisted up as she tried to think what you would use to patch reality.

"I mean, that's essentially what Rich and I have been doing," Quasar said. "Bridging the gaps on a quantum level, to relieve the strain. But permanently manifesting whole new chunks of reality...that's a whole other ball-game."

"I am Groot," said the arboriform hunched in the back behind the other past-Guardians.

Heads whipped around to stare at him. Drax grimaced.

"Sure, Adam Warlock could seal the fissures, but do you really want to risk trying to bring him back again?"

Half the room shuddered. From the looks on their faces, no one was very tempted.

"Talk about unreliable motivations," snorted Rocket.

"Groot may be right about the scale of power needed to effect the necessary repairs," Starhawk said.

Centurion Rael frowned. "It was my understanding that we had agreed it would be premature to discuss that idea in a wider setting."

_Oh, hello. What's this?_ Geena came alert. There was maybe a possibility that she had gotten bored during some of those meetings Starhawk had dragged her to, and once the auto-trans got working on it, the _Wundagore_ 's library bank had some maxigreat reading. 

Now that Geena thought about it, there had been some raised voices yesterday. All the drama last night had driven it to the back of her mind. Geena had been engrossed in something labelled as contemporary mystery, although it read like historical fantasy to her, with mountain snowstorms and solid-projectile black powder guns. She'd checked back in, trying to pick up on what everyone was arguing about, but when you could only understand one word in ten and it was a word like 'quantum', it was time to admit defeat.

"We did," Martinex said, sounding a little uneasy.

"That was before the test failed. The resiliency and integrity of space-time have been compromised more thoroughly than even I feared," argued Starhawk. "Can any of you see another way?" he challenged them. He was a he again, still flipping back and forth at random intervals. "Our power and technology have reached their limits."

"What is it you propose? Speak plainly." Gladiator's voice was low and controlled, it was obvious his patience was wearing thin.

"Starhawk thinks we need to repair the damage to reality. All of it. All at once," Rob Rider said. "Essentially, we would be remaking the universe."

The uproar that followed Rob's statement took a while to die down. Geena found herself wishing she had made a little more effort to understand that argument before. Because. Seriously?

"Okay, but is that even possible?" Rocket asked. "Consensus was, none of us is even qualified to use a cosmic cube. That would take at _least_ a cosmic cube, and we don't even have one of those."

" _Does_ anyone have one of those? Because that would solve a lot of problems," Quill said, looking between his fellow rulers. "Seriously, no judgement."

Gladiator looked like he was sucking on a lemon. "...No," he admitted finally.

"Unfortunately not," Ronan said. 

"Well, that's that, then," Drax said. "We're all doomed."

"Leave it to you to find a positive outlook," said Venom.

Gamora was still looking at Drax, though. Her expression was even less happy than Gladiator's. "There are certain individuals who possess that level of power."

"Thanos can't even use a cosmic cube properly," Drax said instantly. "Last I checked, you wanted to kill him even more than I do, and it's my only purpose in life."

"The cube _was_ cracked," mused Rob.

Quill gave him a betrayed look. "No. Oh, no. Every time I make a deal with Thanos, I get burned."

"The requirements are clear," Starhawk said adamantly. 

"Oh, really? You want to go down the list? Thanos."

"No," Drax and Gamora said in unison.

"Other Eternals?"

"No," chorused the New Warriors.

"The Phoenix."

This time it was Gladiator. " _No._ "

"The Beyonder?" Kitty Pryde asked.

"Killed. Incarcerated in the Kyln when it was destroyed by the Annihilation Wave." Quill rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Adam Warlock was killed by Captain E-Vell after he blew the Fault open."

"We can probably rule out Mephisto, Dormammu, and Cyttorak," Kitty added.

"The Sphinx?" suggested Rob.

"Uh, no," said Speedball.

Silhouette made a noise of disagreement. "But he hasn't always been unreasonable."

"Maybe, but he's bonkers now, and probably fairly pissed with Rich and, uh," Rob broke off.

"Sure. There was that one time, though..." she trailed off, looking thoughtfully at Speedball for some reason.

"Michael Korvac." Future-Quill sighed. "But he's dead."

"Double-dead, then," Robbie said, glancing sideways at Silhouette, who was still watching him.

Geena bit her lip. "The Old Hunger."

"Who is...?" asked Kitty.

"Galactus," Starhawk glossed.

Several eyebrows shot up. 

"He spoke to me. He sent us back to this time so we could fix things," Geena went on. "I think I could get him to listen."

"We might at least be able to persuade the Silver Surfer," Quasar said, nodding. "Rich and I could use the backup."

"And I think—no, listen," Silhouette forestalled an argument, "When the Sphinx scattered us all up and down the timeline, afterwards he merged with that woman, remember, Robbie?"

"I remember being shoved up my own kinetic dimension for a year," Speedball said.

"Oh. Right, sorry. But you were how that happened. Motion is time, something like that."

Rob leaned in, a spark of interest lighting his eyes behind his glasses. "Technically, that's true. Motion doesn't exist without time. The theory is actually that time—" Rob broke off, glancing at his CO. Centurion Rael looked faintly disappointed.

"No, I see what you're getting at. Very clever." Martinex nodded to Silhouette in approval.

"...Can the rest of us get a translation?" asked Selah. 

"It seems like Robbie's powers come from some sort of kinetic dimension—am I getting that right?" Rob asked.

Speedball nodded. "Lab accident."

"Your entire race is a menace," Ronan said under his breath.

Rob ignored him. "Right. So, the kinetic bubbles. Think of each of them like a snapshot, a moment in time. We isolate the right snapshot, we can access the right moment. Time travel."

Selah put that together. "You want to time travel to find the version of this Sphinx guy that you think will help us."

"All this fancy equipment, it's worth a shot." Silhouette looked around to see everyone's reactions.

"Okay, well, I'm pretty sure time travel helped get us all into this, but go ahead and play around with it; we're desperate," Quill said. "And on that note, who wants to volunteer to pitch this to Galactus? Huh? Annihilators? Looks like we're getting the band back together. Maybe we should call in Beta-Ray Bill just for the hell of it."

 

_Site of the tear_

Namorita and Centurion Fraktur had volunteered to keep watch over Richard Rider and guard against intrusion by the Fraternity of Raptors while the rest met to consider other options. The steam from their breath was visible under the low light, in defiance of the heating elements. When Gamora entered, Fraktur turned to face her, but Namorita's gaze remained fixed on Richard.

"Something wrong?" Fraktur asked.

"I want to speak with Namorita. Would you mind leaving us alone?"

Fraktur swung her heavy reptilian head around. "Nita?"

Namorita flicked a glance at Gamora, then away. Her posture was stiff, but she nodded. "It's okay, Frak."

Fraktur skirted Gamora, her posture half wary and half warn-off. She had to hunch to clear the low archway, disappearing up the path that had been levelled through the frozen whorls of the planet's surface to the _Wundagore_.

"The scientists now agree it will be harder to close the tear than they had hoped. Quasar has left to contact the Silver Surfer to add him to the rotation here. I thought you would want to know."

"I guess I should thank you," said Namorita.

Gamora studied her; Namorita had changed since the memorial on now-destroyed Hala. Her eyes gleamed blackly, and her light-coloured hair was pulled back from her face in a plait that began at the crown of her head, highlighting her resemblance to the other Atlantean. Her garments had been chosen for freedom of movement, not warmth, leaving her arms bare and ending well above the wings on her ankles.

"You are not uncomfortable at this temperature," Gamora said at last.

Namorita shrugged slightly. "It's very cold at the bottom of the ocean. And you?" 

"Space is even colder." 

"It's not a contest," said Namorita.

"Isn't it?" 

Gamora let her gaze fall on Richard, lying prone and insensate, exactly as they had found him. The urge to lash out at something rose up from her frustration and impotence. Gamora did not like being helpless, and she did not like being confused.

Namorita darted another look her way, alert to her surge of aggression. "What about your angel of death?"

"Richard and I were very close for a time; we affected each other profoundly," Gamora said. "Whatever else has happened since or may come to pass in the future will not alter that."

Namorita shifted, her crossed arms tightening until she was hugging herself. "He keeps getting snatched away from me. One minute I'm kissing him for the first time, the next I'm in space and we've had a whole relationship I know nothing about. Then he dives into some hell dimension and disappears until we find him washed up on this ball of ice. Things keep happening to him that I can't share. We used to fight side by side." Namorita scowled. 

"Is he very different from the man you remember?" Gamora asked, curious. 

"In some ways." Namorita's expression was complex. "In other ways, he's the same bucket-headed idiot he ever was."

Gamora stayed until the next shift-change, but she did not try to persuade Namorita to leave with her. Richard's history with Namorita could not be altered, either, as tangled as it had apparently become. Still, leaving her behind, Gamora could not decide whether she felt grateful or guilty that, if she desired it, she could have Angela's warm arms around her tonight.

 

_Korvac's dimensional prison_

Despite the rain, Vance decided to go exploring. After several minutes, he realised he still hadn't moved yet and forced himself to push off from the railing. 

The streets were still empty, but they went on and on. How far did it stretch? Could Vance just walk out of town? Would Korvac let him? 

Vance walked up to their old rabbi's house and knocked. No answer. Door was locked. Effective.

When he got to the convenience store, the doors were locked, too, and the sign said closed. That meant no food and no shelter unless Vance was willing to break in somewhere. Or go crawling back to Korvac.

Vance forced himself to keep walking, although he had to stop now and then to wait out bouts of nausea and dizziness, or sit covering his ears when the movement and susurrus of the rain became suddenly too much. 

He checked his watch before remembering it was completely useless here. But the sky above the clouds was growing darker and streetlights were starting to come on. 

Korvac was exercising a fair amount of patience letting Vance wander around out here on his own. Tracking Vance remotely was almost certainly within his capabilities, but he hadn't interfered with Vance's conversation with Carina either. 

Obviously, Korvac was enjoying drawing this out. Vance couldn't deny that trudging through the dark and the rain, weak and hungry, was effectively discouraging. Porch lights were on in the houses he passed, but no interior lights showed through the windows. Vance might have been projecting, but it felt depressingly like a metaphor for his childhood here. Closed doors like the way his tentative quests after help had been shut down. People had ignored the signs. No one wanted to get involved.

And there, down the next street, one house lit up like a beacon. Korvac wanted to make him suffer, but he also wanted Vance to come back. 

Punishing them wasn't enough. He wanted vindication—from Vance, from Carina. Korvac had constructed this whole little world so he had nowhere else to go, to draw Vance back in again like those sand pit ants. The source of shelter and sustenance was also the source of punishment.

Which was _exactly_ the same as it had been when Vance was a kid, he realised. He couldn't believe he was willingly walking back into this.

But what was willing? Vance had tried running away from his actual parents; he'd alrady had his bar mitzvah, so he'd figured he was man enough not to take it anymore. When they'd found him and brought him back, it had seemed like real escape was impossible. 

Vance hated it with every fibre of his being, but running away was not the solution here. Sulking in the bushes all night would only get him a head cold on top of the concussion. There was no getting out of this nightmare while Carina was still determined to keep Korvac prisoner. If he couldn't sway Carina, maybe he could get through to Korvac. 

Korvac had demonstrated remorse in the past—he'd revived the Avengers. _After killing them all,_ the voice in the back of his head reminded him. Well, it wasn't like Vance had anything better to do with his time. _Yes, you do. You can_ not _drive yourself crazy playing into his fucking head games._

Here it was. Vance would have given anything not to be facing this by himself. Alone, it was hard to convince his confused brain that the last ten years had really happened, that it was _over_ and this wasn't what it appeared to be. Like a child, he wanted someone to protect him. 

But that wasn't going to happen this time, either. Having the entire team here wouldn't do anything but make Vance feel a little less lonely and a lot more worried. Just imagining what Korvac could do with Kaine's past made his stomach flip.

This wasn't going to be resolved by a fight. Vance's only chance was to reason with a nigh-omnipotent madman.

Sometimes he really hated his life.

Vance opened the door.

Korvac was sitting in his father's chair, watching something on the television. More likely he had been watching Vance. 

"What do you think you're wearing?" Korvac growled in his father's voice, standing. "I can't believe this. I don't even have to ask where you've been at this hour, playing superhero with those freak friends of yours. You've missed supper, and don't think you're getting it now. Go and change out of that—that _thing_. Coming in through the front door..."

Vance couldn't stop the old, familiar swell of hurt, fear, and rage that rose like bile in his throat. He took a deep breath, forcing it all back down. "No."

Korvac's expression grew thunderous. "What do you mean, _no_? You want me to whip it off of you boy? Because I will."

"No, Korvac," Vance repeated himself, struggling to keep his voice even. "I won't play your games."

Korvac slapped him. "Don't take that tone with me."

Vance reeled. _I can't do this, I can't do this,_ he screamed silently, unsure whether he meant keeping control of his power or letting Korvac's abuse continue. Vance's entire body was tight with the effort of holding it all in. He could feel his power tingling over his skin, ready to stop the next blow from connecting. 

"You know, there's something poetically symmetrical about this," Korvac mused, his tone changing. He watched Vance as though drinking in every nuance of his reaction. "A version of you was responsible for the death of my father." 

"You are _not_ my father," Vance snapped before he could stop himself.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk," Korvac tutted him. "Got to watch that temper, son. You could do something you'd regret."

"I am not playing your games anymore," Vance grated, fists clenching down by his sides.

Korvac sneered. "You don't have any choice."

"But you do."

That got his attention. Vance regained a little more control over himself.

"As you are very well aware, my darling wife is the one imprisoning the both of us."

Vance took a breath, trying to concentrate on Korvac's eyes and not the rest of him. "Only because she believes you're a threat. But you don't have to be. The universe is splitting apart at the seams. People are literally trying to hold it together with their bare hands, but we don't have the power. Something's gone very wrong back there. It's taking everything we have just to keep it from getting worse. You could fix it in an instant."

"You cannot be serious." Carina stepped out of thin air.

Vance tried to suppress a groan. "I—"

"You're trying to recruit _him_? You _are_ brain-damaged," she snapped over him. "Would I have thrown my life away down this hole if there were any other way of dealing with him?"

"And here I thought you genuinely wanted us to spend eternity together," Korvac said insincerely.

"Carina," Vance said, trying to be rational although his head was pounding from the shield he'd summoned earlier, even though nothing had impacted it. "There's not much point in protecting the universe from Korvac only to let it be destroyed by something else."

She turned a disbelieving look on him. "What makes you so sure of this danger?" 

"How did—" His brains _were_ scrambled. "How did I get here?"

"What?" Carina asked.

"Whatever you're doing to keep Korvac from leaving ought to make it impossible for anything else to get in, right?"

"Of course," she said. 

"So how did I get here?" Vance asked again. 

"Through a—"

Korvac's face was growing purple with rage.

"—a breach," Carina finished, staring at Korvac in dawning horror. "A breach I did not detect."

"The boy is right, you know, dearest," Korvac told her. "I was going to wait for his universe to crack like an egg and watch everything crumble around you, but we can do this now."

Carina's glowing eyes were wide and staring, looking for something Vance couldn't see. "Where? How?"

"I died," Korvac said. "Some other version of me. His essence, his power were drawn to me through a crack in the fabric of reality."

Korvac gestured, and suddenly there was—something else in the doorway to the kitchen. Vance tried to get a closer look, but he couldn't seem to make his eyes focus.

_That's how I got here,_ he realised. _That's a way home._

Korvac was, of course, the closest to it. If he went through, there was every chance he'd seal the breach behind him and leave the both of them trapped here. 

Vance saw Carina realise all the implications. She made some kind of gesture, trying and failing to close it. Korvac laughed and turned his back on her.

Shrieking in fury, Carina swung a lamp at him. 

Pieces of light bulb and splinters from the base flew everywhere; but when Korvac rounded on her, she shoved her clawed hand in his face and blasted him with some form of energy. The edges of it punched through the ceiling, showering them all with dust and debris. 

Korvac grabbed Carina's arm and forced it away while her other arm started pounding at thin air. Vance's confusion only lasted for the moment it took for the ceiling to groan and come crashing down around their ears.

Vance couldn't scramble a shield in time, reflexes slowed by injury. He tried to hoist himself up using what had once been a piece of furniture and his leg buckled. Looking down, Vance saw his costume stained with—oh, god, that was all his own blood. He stared at it in horror, and it took forever for him to summon up his power and start feeling around in the wound until, through the lances of agony, he found the severed blood vessels and pressed the ends together.

Carina and Korvac were, of course, still on their feet, facing each other. They were speaking, but Vance couldn't hear what they were saying past the ringing in his ears. 

Everything seemed to ripple as they contended on a level Vance couldn't even comprehend. Carina was obviously struggling, throwing herself into every assault.

It wasn't enough. Without any warning, Korvac backhanded Carina. Unprepared for the simple physical attack, if it _was_ only a physical attack, she crashed into a pile of debris.

Before Vance could think, he was between them. The shield he forced out wouldn't do much against someone like Korvac, but maybe he'd buy Carina enough time to get back into it. It didn't matter, though; Vance couldn't stand around and watch it happen.

Then Korvac did something Vance wasn't expecting: he laughed. Eyes widening, Vance realised that the smudge in the air beside Korvac was the breach.

"Stop!" Vance cried hoarsely.

Korvac, still wearing his father's face, spread his empty hands and grinned at him. "Make me."

Vance—couldn't. 

Korvac threw back his head and laughed, taking another step towards the breach.

And then a voice in Vance's mind that sounded suspiciously like Kaine said, _Screw it._

That was not Arnold Astrovik, that was Michael Korvac, and he was not getting away. Vance was not going to let himself be manipulated by this asshole, and he was not dying here. 

Tears streaming down his face, Vance hit Korvac with everything he had. He sailed through the ruins of the illusion of Vance's house and landed on a pile of debris.

_Guess he really thought he had me beat._ Vance staggered towards the breach, then remembered Carina. 

She had already regained her feet. "Go," she told him. "Leave Michael to me."

"I can't—" Vance started to protest.

Carina shoved him roughly, and he tripped into the distortion, and into free-fall.

Holding something was a lot harder than hitting something. It was a matter of sustained effort and concentration. But Vance had practice. He could hold himself together long enough to make it back.

Wherever he was, it was dark and cold, and he was falling. Vance couldn't let go of his leg, though, that had been a lot of blood, he thought that might have been an artery. But if he fell and hit something, that would be bad. 

The light that hit Vance felt like another blow to the face. Then something actually hit him, and there was shouting, and then everything went dark again.


	20. Chapter 20

* * *

**BOOK THREE**

* * *

_Interstellar Space_

The thread of unease the Silver Surfer had been feeling for some interval rose to the fore when Quasar appeared in his path. He slowed, swinging his board around to match vector and velocity.

"Surfer, I'm glad I found you."

Quasar had a girl in tow, possibly someone he had rescued. She was sitting cross-legged in a bubble of light, chewing on her lower lip.

"What is amiss?" the Silver Surfer inquired.

Quasar's attitude became more intent. "What makes you think something is wrong?"

The Silver Surfer was even more certain now. "No one approaches a herald of Galactus for the purpose of small-talk."

"That's kind of sad," the girl said. 

The Silver Surfer scrutinised her for a moment, then returned his attention to Quasar. "And why is it you have sought me out?"

The girl squared her shoulders and took a deep breath. "I want to speak with the Old Hunger. Can you please take us to see Galactus?"

 

_The_ New Wundagore III  
 _Rogue Interglactic Orphan_

Kaine waited by Vance's bedside until he woke up. 

Aracely had burst into his room in hysterics, interrupting his brooding. She'd dragged him up bodily and out, through the ship, making noises in a register only audible to animals and, apparently, people with spider powers. 

They'd made a beeline for the shuttle bay—Kaine had been afraid it was more Darkhawk drama; didn't these people have anything better to do? Aracely had been as upset as Kaine had ever seen her, in an experience that included being hunted by werewolves and kidnapped by knife-wielding psychos. 

The hangar was already open to the outside when they got there, putting them at the mouth of a really cold wind tunnel. Aracely had let him go at last, giving him a chance to get his feet back under himself. 

That had been when Selah crashed in carrying Vance's body, covered in blood. Kaine had known it was him even before Selah sat up enough for her burden to be visible. 

She'd started babbling something as soon as she spotted them, but Kaine wasn't paying attention. He was on his knees beside Vance, feeling for warmth, pulse, breath, anything. Blood covered the lower half of his face, and there was a lot more on his leg. _No, no..._

The flutter of Vance's eyelids and weak clutch of his fingers had sent a dizzying wave of relief washing over Kaine, so intense his vision had greyed out. For a moment, all he could do was kneel there with Vance crushed to his chest, sobbing harsh breaths, overcome with relief. 

He was hurt so badly, though. Kaine had gathered him up and sprinted for the infirmary. Vance had seemed to weigh nothing at all in his arms. 

They'd blown past horn-boy, no doubt summoned by Selah's calls for help. He'd flattened himself against the wall and gaped at Kaine as he sailed past, torn no doubt between following them and checking on his girlfriend. Kaine had ignored him and the other gawpers, cursing the sheer fucking size and complexity of the High Evolutionary's construction. 

Launching himself as far as he could with each stride, Kaine clung to the irregular puff of Vance's breath, warm against his neck. Any feeling of his heartbeat was drowned out by the hammering of Kaine's own pulse. 

"Kaine..." Vance's voice had been faint and cracked. 

"Hold on, I've got you. It's going to be okay. You'd better be okay, you jackass," Kaine threatened as he ran. 

The infirmary door had taken forever to slide open. Jake Waffles had already been there and taken charge of things. 

Vance's femoral artery had been almost completely severed. He seemed to have been doing his best to hold the ends in place using his apparently severely abused brain, explaining the grisly nosebleed. 

Waffles' incomprehensible-looking machines could fix his leg, and he claimed they would fix his head; but Vance was still lying there unconscious. Rest, Jake Waffles insisted, was what he needed now. Fluids could only be replaced so fast, and Vance had lost a lot of blood. Wherever he'd gone, it hadn't been friendly. If those Raptors ever showed up again, Kaine was going to finish ripping them limb from limb. 

Vance had slipped the rest of the way into unconsciousness once Waffles had taken over responsibility for keeping him from bleeding out. There was an IV draining fluids into him, but his face was still deathly pale under the blood. 

Kaine had cleaned it away. Then he had pushed back the cowl, shaking loose dust and other crap. Kaine had kept going, sticking his hands to the fabric to counteract the clinging of blood, sweat, and dirt that had permeated it so he could yank it off. Vance's skin was whole now, only a little smudged where his costume had been torn. 

Kaine had pitched the ruined thing blindly across the room in a fit of rage. The sense of the Other under his skin was different than it had ever been before. _Prey,_ it snarled, always prey. This feeling he'd had since setting eyes on Vance in the hangar was something new. _Mate._

Before Kaine could set him down, Vance's fingers had tightened on his shoulders, keeping him from moving away. "Saved...you saved me," he had rasped. 

"It was Selah." Kaine had swallowed, throat so dry it felt like sandpaper. "She found you." 

"You," Vance had insisted. 

Kaine had thought he'd known fear when Vance was knocked out of the fight. In those horrible days afterwards, he'd wanted to bring everything crashing down. The helplessness, the uncertainty—Kaine had never before been so completely at the mercy of something so far outside his knowledge and control. 

If he had thought not knowing whether Vance was alive or dead, if he'd ever see him again, had been horrible, sitting by his bedside was infinitely worse. Every fibre of his being cried out for him to protect this man, but it was too late. Vance had had to face everything on his own. No, it certainly hadn't been Kaine who saved him. 

The others had all come galloping in, the New Warriors, one after the other. Aracely, Selah, and Mark had arrived together, Selah still smeared with Vance's blood. 

Kaine had been too distracted to notice Sil when he came in; even he had difficulty seeing her in the shadows. With or without the braces, she was almost impossible to track.

Baldwin looked whiter than he had facing down Gladiator. This was apparently what it took to pry Namorita away from Rider. Not enough to stop her and Faira from glaring at each other like circling sharks, though. And the Nova kid was standing off to one side, his father's hand resting on his shoulder.

Everyone gave Kaine a wide berth. He had come down off the wall where he'd lingered, keeping an eye on Waffles' procedures, to help him move Vance to an actual bed and was sitting beside him now. His hand was limp and a little cold; Kaine pressed it between his own, hanging on every throb of Vance's pulse.

This led to a lot of nervy hesitation in approaching the other side of the bed. Under other circumstances, it might almost have been funny. Even Aracely was shy of him. When Mark had taken Selah to get cleaned up, Aracely had ducked out after them and come back with a pair of Vance's pyjama pants and an old college tee-shirt. 

"I am still mad at you," she'd told him, lower lip thrust out aggressively. She'd yanked the privacy curtain between them for emphasis. 

Kaine felt a recurring twinge of guilt, but he was having trouble focussing on anything right now. This was terribly like the vigil they'd kept over Meland after Ana Kraven gutted him. Kaine waited with his heart in his mouth. Vance would be fine. The technology in this place was unreal. They had aliens and supercomputers and people from the future. Anything that happened, he would make them fix it. 

But nothing was going to happen. Just that Vance would wake up, that he would open his eyes and smile up at Kaine. _Just let him open his eyes._

Waffles had shooed away everybody else, although he had better sense than to try and dislodge Kaine. Despite his sometimes obnoxious enthusiasm, Waffles generally seemed to know what he was doing. Well-trained dog. 

The others seemed to have gotten the message, taking it in ones and twos to fret on the other side of the bed. Some of them talked, but Kaine didn't listen. Words stuck in his throat.

Time stretched. Something beeped on the mechanical side of the infirmary, and Kaine almost jumped out of his skin. Waffles appeared to hook a bag of dark crimson liquid into Vance's IV. Synthetic blood? If you had an army of ninety or a hundred genetically altered species, it made sense.

Kaine thought hopefully that the blood was making him look better. Was there more colour to Vance's cheeks? Kaine teetered between a desperate hopefulness that was completely unlike him and the equally desperate premonition that no good would ever come to anything he touched. 

The rhythm of Vance's breathing broke, sending a sharp spike of alarm through Kaine until he realised the hand in his was moving. Vance turned his hand in Kaine's, gripping back. 

"What," Vance tried again, "What happened? Korvac..." 

"Selah found you outside. What's a Korvac?" Wait, hadn't one of the future people mentioned something about a Korvac? 

"Kaine," Vance sighed in relief, struggling to get his eyes open. 

Kaine's heart clenched. "I'm here. Everything's going to be—" 

"Vance! Thank god you're all right," Selah exclaimed, arriving just at that moment. "I was coming back from Rider-watch when I saw a flash in the sky and something fell out." 

"Wait, Rich is still down there? You left him like that?" Vance asked, sitting up. 

"He was up and walking around for a while," said Selah. She had traded in her bloodstained costume for exercise clothes, which must have been the only other things she had to wear. 

"Quasar came and took over for him," explained Mark, who seemed to be permanently attached to Selah's side now. "They just switched back. You've been gone over a week." 

Vance absorbed that. Obviously, wherever he'd been had been bad; but Kaine didn't know how to ask. 

"What about Nita? Faira can't have been holding her alone—" 

"She's fine. She was in here earlier; I can go find her if you want," Selah volunteered. 

"Maybe later," Waffles stepped in. "After I examine him, Vance needs to rest." He looked directly at Kaine. "Are you going to bite me if I ask you to let go?" 

Kaine's hands were still locked around Vance's. He glowered at Waffles. 

Vance tilted his head and gave Kaine a curious look. Kaine felt his cheeks heat but found he was still reluctant to let go. 

Vance sneezed violently.

 

_Tear site_

"Whoa," Rich said when he saw who had replaced him at the construct. "That's a surprise." 

"I felt similarly when Quasar informed me you had survived," the Silver Surfer replied. 

"How'd you get roped into this? I mean, thanks for the hand and everything." 

"This is a crisis that affects everyone." 

"That's nothing," Nita said. "You should see who he brought with him." 

There was an aggressive tilt to Nita's eyebrow. _Yeah, okay,_ Rich figured; she might be talking to him again, but he wasn't getting much recovery time before they launched back into it again. 

Outside, they took to the air. There was a new point of light in the sky, which the Worldmind tagged as— "No way." 

_Way,_ confirmed Worldmind. _That is Galactus. Efforts are underway to make contact with entities who possess power on a useful scale before entering the next phase of planning._

"What else did I miss?" Rich asked as he followed Nita through the bitterly cold air and into a personnel lock. 

She shot him a slightly dirty look at what was maybe a bit of an evasion, but Rich did have more to worry about than just how unhappy Nita was with him. 

"Vance is back," she said. "Fell out of the sky onto Sun Girl; out of the same crack that swallowed him in the first place, near as you brother can tell." 

A wide grin split Rich's face despite his fatigue, lightening the weary weight in his chest. "Oh my god; is he okay?" 

"A little dinged up, but yeah. They got him fixed up." For a moment, Nita's incredible grin lit up her face; but her expression grew serious again. "There's something else. Darkhawk." 

"Blue blazes. Can't he stay out of trouble for five minutes?" They were inside now, and Rich took of his helmet so he could rub his forehead. "What's he done now?" 

"He wanted to see if he could make contact with the other designates. Apparently the last time he did this, the guy on the inside fed him some intel on the Raptor he was hooked up to. If Chris can put the designates in control, that turns these bird losers from enemies into assets." 

That all sounded well and good, but. "Didn't Chris also say that when he went under, the Raptor came up? This being the Raptor who was actually responsible for assassinating the Shi'ar majestrix." 

"Well, he's up on the ship, locked in the brig, with Starhawk hovering over him and Quasar on deck in case he freaks out," Nita said. 

"I can't believe you all thought this was a good idea. And how did you manage to convince Chris?" 

Nita shrugged in a way that was not at all casual. "Rob and Starhawk are pretty definite that having the Raptors drop in unannounced on whatever it is we end up doing here would suck ass." 

Rich rubbed his temples, where Worldmind was not quite managing to reverse a headache. It had only been a few days this time; but even with Worldmind playing with his biochemistry to compensate, that was days without sleeping, eating, or pissing. 

"Okay, look, I'll deal with that later. I want to check in on Vance now." 

Vance was still in the _Wundagore_ 's infirmary, but before they could get there, they ran into Ronan. Rich suppressed a sigh and prepared to be diplomatic or something. 

"Nova Prime," Ronan greeted him, nodding fractionally. "It's good to have you back with us; there are decisions to be made. Your Highness."

Rich did not know who had told Ronan Nita's title—he was betting Faira—but it had not been Nita. There was a reason she ran around superheroing instead of floating around Atlantis being royal. 

Rich also got the feeling that Nita and Faira and their ability to bend strong men into pretzels had confirmed to Ronan that Earth did in fact possess an elite in a more normal hue and not just pink-skinned wise-asses. It probably wasn't worth it to try and persuade him otherwise. 

"It's good to stretch my legs," said Rich. "Would you like to walk with us? I hope there haven't been any more problems while I was, er, tied up."

Ronan fell into step, frowning thoughtfully. He was a very earnest, if not an incredibly huggable, guy.

"The solutions that are being put forward since your first attempt at closure failed seem radical to me."

"The Xandarian Worldmind and I will both check over any solution before we put our resources behind it, Worldmind for technical accuracy and me for common sense and cringe factor," Rich said.

Nita coughed to cover her actual reaction to that line. Sure, you could carry around the entire Nova Force, but did you get any respect? 

Coming up on the infirmary, Rich saw Vance sneaking out into the hall. He was barefoot and wearing a ratty Columbia shirt over a pair of pyjama pants. They were covered in little Captain America shields, because of course they were. 

"Hi, Vance," Rich said with evil cheer. 

"Rich!" Vance seized him in a bear of a hug, thumping him enthusiastically on the back. 

"Good to see you, too," Rich said, meaning it. 

Vance was grinning from ear to ear when they separated. He looked almost as shaky as Rich felt, though. 

"It is well your comrade has been restored to you," Ronan said, sounding sincere.

Rich had been pretty sure Vance hadn't even noticed Ronan was there before, and he'd been right, because Vance's eyes got _huge_ and his face went so white Rich was actually afraid he'd faint. 

"I—my apologies, Supreme Accuser. I didn't see you there. Please don't let me interrupt."

"Right!" Rich clapped him on the shoulder. "Where are my manners? Ronan, this is Justice of the Avengers. Vance, Ronan, ruler of the Kree Empire," Rich introduced them heartlessly.

Vance coughed awkwardly. "I'm, uh, not actually an Avenger anymore. There was a—it doesn't matter."

This was priceless. 

Ronan waved his apologies away. "I am the one who is intruding on your reunion. Rider was on his way to visit you in your sickbed when I accosted him."

"Sneaking out, huh?" Rich guessed, sympathetic.

"No—"

" _Yes,_ " came the emphatic answer from the Scarlet Spider, approaching from the opposite direction.

Vance's boyfriend—which Rich still totally didn't get, although he supposed Angel could be more than a little scary on occasion—squinted mistrustfully at him as he came up even with them. Rich hadn't seen him without his mask on before. The Spiders tended to be like that, although somehow Rich didn't think this was the same guy the New Warriors had hooked up with when they were kids.

"I can sit around in my room as well as anywhere else," Vance pointed out irritably.

The Scarlet Spider sighed. It was true, Vance was awful at being side-lined; he claimed that since he fought with his brain and not his body, physical injuries didn't really matter. When Vance had broken his leg, _after_ being benched with a concussion, and the Avengers finally succeeded in forcing him to sit down, Rich had endured a lot of whining, first, second, and third-hand from Vance, Nita, and Angel. Was that after this Nita's timeline split off? Had to be. 

Seriously, though, Angel was an _actual_ angel for putting up with Super Tights through all that. Maybe Scarlet Spider was scary enough to frighten him into behaving. Although Rich had to admit he'd been a little short-tempered himself when Nita was kidnapped, so it was possible he'd judged the guy prematurely. Now Vance was back, dude might mellow out.

"Sit around, yes. Walk to, no. I could pick you up and carry you if you like," Scarlet Spider offered.

Vance looked pained. "Can we please not have this conversation in front of the leader of a galactic empire?"

Scarlet Spider turned an assessing look on Ronan; he didn't seem impressed. "If you'd rather collapse and start bleeding from your face again in front of big blue here, you can do that, too."

While Vance was trying to decide which part of that statement to object to first, Nita stepped in. 

"Why don't we leave you guys to it?" She kissed Vance on the cheek.

"I'll catch you two later," Vance agreed regretfully, recognising that no one else was interested in helping him out in any useful way. "Lots to catch up on." 

They abandoned Vance to be slung over his boyfriend's shoulder and carted off either back to the infirmary or to somebody's room, Rich didn't really want to know. At least they wouldn't have an audience. 

Nita punched Rich in the ribs, since that arm wasn't there to hit anymore. "You jerk. That was a terrible thing to do. He got himself half-exsanguinated in some kind of dimensional nightmare zone after trekking out here to the ass-end of nowhere to save your malnourished backside, you know." 

"It's a guy thing."

Nita rolled her eyes, and it was impressive because you could tell she was doing it even though they were completely black. Ronan was starting to look like it was straining his self-restraint to pretend they weren't all silly children, though, so it was probably time to get back to business.


	21. Chapter 21

_The Tree of Shadows_   
_The Null Source_

Chris could not fucking believe he was doing this again. He was relying on the word of that nutty Raptor chick from the future that Razor wasn't going to be running wild while he was doing this. If the Raptors got their jollies axing galactic leaders, there was a rich crop down on the planet. Although Chris did find it reassuring that Gladiator and Ronan would be pretty hard to kill, plus the way Peter Quill surrounded himself with scary assassins. 

Chris hadn't even be certain he _could_ drop into the Null. The only other time he'd been here, he'd followed the Datasong. Been lured, really. Even high in orbit above the planet's surface, the Datasong was fragmented by what Rob Rider called pervasive damage to the fabric of space-time. 

When he was _at_ the Tree of Shadows, he'd be in another dimension, away from the fissures. It was the connexion between where his body was and the Null Source that was unreliable. 

Now, logically and rationally, it seemed to Chris that if he had trouble getting in, he might also have some trouble getting out. He would have felt a lot better about this whole thing if Starhawk had been more reassuring about his ability to banish the Raptor if it turned out Chris needed a hand. 

The Null Source seemed the same as it had last time around. Chris examined himself: naked and covered in creepy mystic symbols again, and he really could have done without the giant, crystal-tipped acupuncture needles sticking out of his arms. In his experience, space leaned towards the high-tech end of things, but somewhere along the line this Raptor business had taken a left turn into some seriously Doctor Strange sort of stuff. 

Cautiously, Chris poked his head out of his crystal, gleaming redly like the amulet on his armour. No sign of the demon bat things yet. Chris craned his neck; there were literally thousands of other crystals—no, wait, there was another one lit up. Even glowing like that, it was going to take some doing to find five specific crystals in all this. Six crystals? If Starhawk was from the future, would her crystal be lit on the tree now? Or if it was only active on the tree in future, did that mean the connexion was stretching across time? What _was_ Starhawk, anyway? Chris was half convinced she was something else entirely and had figured out a way to hack into the Datasong. 

_Here we go._ Chris steeled himself and pulled the rest of his body up and out of his crystal. The other one wasn't far, but it was a little ways above him: no jumping this time. Chris edged his way back along the branch until he could reach another one and start clambering up, keeping a wary eye out.

An ominous hissing arose from near the trunk of the tree. _Crap crap crap._ Chris started to hurry. 

The noise he made climbing sounded deafening to his ears. Were those shadows moving? It was hard to tell from the middle of all the disturbance he was causing. Branches dipped and bent; Chris felt like a fly clambering around a spider web, his every movement transmitted back to the hunter in the middle. 

There were other things rattling the branches now, still farther in but gaining fast. Chris caught glimpses of baleful red eyes among the twisted limbs of the Tree of Shadows. 

"Return, return," rasped awful voices that sent shudders down Chris's spine.

Shit, he _hated_ these fuckers. The creep factor was beyond belief, and did they have to swarm like that? Chris stretched to reach a new branch as the demons scurried out onto the one he'd been edging along, only to find another already on it. He kicked it solidly in the face with his bare foot and bought himself a second to find someplace to go next.

If there was somewhere left to go. Dammit, he was so close; the lit crystal was just a little farther. 

"Return, return, return." The things had him surrounded and almost cut off; Christ they moved fast. 

Chris had to drop down again to avoid getting mauled. He was about even with the crystal, hanging tantalisingly from the branch next to the one he'd just vacated. This was probably as good a shot as he was going to get. 

Chris launched himself with a shout; he made contact with the outside of the crystal and kept going, experiencing a momentary panic as his vision filled with the lavender glow before he banged to a halt against the crystal's interior.

Since it was purple, Chris had figured this wasn't Talon's crystal. He'd had no idea what to expect, except that the potential Novas he was snooping around for were a Shi'ar and a Xandarian, both of which were relatively human-looking on the scale of aliens. 

That definitely did not cover what Chris had here. Relief at having made it was just starting to sink in when Chris found himself slammed back and pinned with an arm across his throat by a bald alien lady with a horn sticking out of her head and large, blank blue eyes. Oh, and she was purple, like glow-in-the-dark purple or disappearing glue stick purple. So, Starhawk or one of the Shi'ar Imperial Guard, Chris had no clue which.

"Urgk," Chris said.

The purple lady lowered her chin, which pointed her horn directly at Chris's left eye. "You're the human anomaly who failed to prevent the assassination of Lilandra Neramani."

Shi'ar it was. Chris would have counted to ten, but he was afraid of running out of air. He supposed that counted as a clue. 

"That's a harsh way of putting it," he gurgled. 

Imperial Purple let him go with a disgusted mutter and stepped back as far as the cramped interior of the crystal would allow. Wait, was she naked, too? _Focus, Chris._

"What are you doing here?" she asked, crossing her arms over her breasts.

"If I tell you, won't the Raptors find out, too?" Chris pointed out, rubbing his neck.

"If you're not going to tell me anything, why did you bother coming?"

"I'm taking a survey," Chris said sarcastically. "How satisfied are you with your choice to let a power-hungry terrorist fanatic usurp your place in the universe?"

"It's zokking great; what do _you_ think?" she snapped back. 

"Well, you volunteered," Chris told her. "I'm the guy with a whole empire on his back over a case of mistaken identity, and that's the least of my problems. So could you help me out and tell me what the Raptors know about what's going on?"

Imperial Purple gave him a judgemental look. "You can't find out for yourself?"

Huh. Chris actually _hadn't_ tried to listen for the Datasong when he was at the Null Source himself before. Maybe he should try it; nothing to lose, right?

"Why does everyone else know more about this than me?" Chris complained.

Purple shrugged. "Because humans are flarked in the brain?" 

"Thanks," Chris said dryly. "Whoever you are."

"I am Plutonia of the Shi'ar Imperial Guard," Purple said, in the same tone you might use to say, _I'm Storm of the X-Men, and you're still learning to tie your shoes, kid._ Whatever. At least he wasn't trapped in a piece of tacky costume jewellery. Theoretically.

"Cool. I'll tell your majestor you said hi." Chris made to stick his head out the side of the crystal and see if the demon bats were still out there. 

"Wait." Plutonia caught his arm. "The Raptors know that something's going on in fractured space. Talonis went to do recon the old fashioned way. Before you exposed him, he learned everything he could about the fractured space and the scientists' plans to fix it. He's been using the Datasong to project a lot of alternate reality scenarios since he hooked back up."

"Thanks," Chris told her.

"There's one more thing," said Plutonia. "There were two of us who sacrificed ourselves to the Raptors so Kal—the majestor could escape and warn everyone what was coming. I'm just a fighter; I don't understand half of what beams out to the Raptor. Mentor's the one who can help you. If anyone can outthink these zokkers, he can."

"What colour was his amulet?"

"Yellow."

Chris nodded and leaned to stick his head out the side of the crystal. Yellow ought to be pretty easy to spot in this dump. 

He checked several different angles around them and finally caught a glimpse of something all the way on the other side of the tree, where the trunk would have hidden it from him before. Chris pulled his head back inside and thought. 

The last time he'd been in this position, he'd been able to will himself back into his crystal, because he was projecting his spirit, not actually physically moving around. Although the way Plutonia had slammed him up against the wall had felt pretty damn physical, and so had all the outtakes from a Tarzan movie he'd been re-enacting. Man, but did being naked add a whole unnecessary level of excitement to that sort of thing. Chris definitely preferred going into action with the full suit of armour. 

"What are you doing?" asked Plutonia.

"Trying something different," Chris said.

He closed his eyes and concentrated, digging up some of the techniques he'd learned in anger management. _Deep, even breaths. Clear your mind. There is no spoon._

He wanted to be in the lit yellow crystal. Chris visualised it in his mind as he'd seen it, the gold spark peeking out from behind the gnarled trunk of the Tree of Shadows. Everyone kept saying he was so special, he could do awesome things if he just put his mind to it. Time to prove them right.

Nothing. Damn it. No matter what people claimed, Chris just still couldn't get the hang of it. The wrong damned human had picked up the amulet. If it had been Rich Rider, the Raptors would all have been stuffed up their own existences again by now.

"Well, I wasn't expecting that."

The voice was male. Chris's eyes flew open. 

Plutonia was gone. Chris was standing in what appeared to be the interior of another crystal, its thick walls refracting a dancing amber light. In front of him was, no question, definitely a guy. What the hell was so mystically offensive about pants, Chris wanted to know. His clothes always came with him when he switched back to his armour; they had to be hanging out somewhere in the meantime. Why couldn't he be wearing them?

Other than being as unfortunately naked as Chris, the guy seemed fairly normal. Dark hair, tanned skin, all the usual numbers of everything with nothing obviously added on. He was wary and maybe a little rough-looking, but you had to give him that in this situation. 

"Are you Mentor?" Chris asked him. 

"No," the man said.

Crap. Well, thousands of amulets. That was a lot more than ninety-six crayons in this box; some of them were going to look alike. 

"Are you a Nova?" Chris asked. He almost had to be. 

"Yes—"

"Great. Do you know a, uh, Malik Tarcel? Shi'ar, quiet guy, very focussed," Chris repeated the description the corps had given him.

"Yes—"

"Two for two; awesome. Do you know what colour his amulet is?" Hopefully, that would work out better this time. If there were two yellow crystals and Chris was in one, the other would be Mentor, and he'd take a super-genius who'd had two years to sift through the Datasong and build up a grudge, you bet. Any other lit crystal he didn't recognise would have to be Tarcel or Starhawk, probably Tarcel. 

"Grey," the Nova said. 

Not another repeat: excellent. Chris stuck his head out the crystal and started scanning the tree again. Fewer freaky demon bat things, which was always good as far as Chris was concerned. The ones he could see didn't seem to notice he was here, settling in among the branches or skulking back towards the trunk. 

Grey was going to be harder to spot in all this; but if Chris could continue to avoid riling up the demon bats, he had time. Grey or yellow, grey or yellow...

The Nova was making impatient noises by the time Chris pulled his head back in, the location of the lit crystal he thought he'd spotted way down in the lower branches firmly fixed in his mind. It didn't look yellow, which meant that, if nothing else, Chris wouldn't have to go back to the corps empty-handed. 

"Mm-hm, sure, guy. Oh, before I go, what's your name?"

 

_The_ New Wundagore III  
 _Rogue intergalactic orphan_

It was a good thing Sam's mom had made him pack a few changes of clothes, because all the stuff everyone else was pulling from the ship's stores was way too big to fit him. Also, he'd have to be doing laundry all the time, and Sam didn't really know how to do laundry. 

He was spending a lot of time out of costume, since he couldn't pull Nova force from Rider when he was working at the tear. No Nova force, no helmet, no costume. No Nova. Sam might as well sit around playing videogames. Because he was a kid; not like he could actually help.

Sam slouched into the rec room and threw himself onto the sectional before he realised someone else was there. He glanced up, expecting one of the team, since no one else generally came up here.

It was Richard Rider. 

After a while, Sam realised he was staring. _Say something! Say anything!_

"Uh...hi." 

_You moron._ Sam wished he could just sink through the couch into the floor, like Shadowcat.

"Hi." Rider watched him back, looking amused. Oh, good. Sam was glad he was _entertaining_. 

The older Rider was definitely more intimidating than his brother. He was just so...grown up. Sam had known he'd been trying to fill some big shoes; but Rider was tall, his close-fitting uniform didn't make him look like a stick, and he radiated a sense of authority and power that was somehow different than Sam's, even though Sam could tap the entire Nova Force if he needed to, too. He barely even seemed like he lived in the same universe. 

"We haven't really had a chance to talk," Rider said after a stretched out pause, finally taking pity. 

Rider was staying up on the _Resolute Duty_ with the corps and his girlfriend, only coming down to the _Wundagore_ to meet with the scientists and leaders, or occasionally his old friends. Sam's dad had decided someone needed to keep an eye on his ex-gladiator pals, and Sam had decided to keep an eye on his dad. Just in case the Chitauri decided to pop out of a hole in space and snatch him again or something.

"I guess not, sir." The _sir_ just kind of slipped out. Sam cringed at himself. 

Rider looked at him a little askance. "Well, you're politer than I was as a kid. How old are you, anyway? Would you stop that? I'm trying to have a conversation."

"...I'm not doing anything?"

Rider grimaced in annoyance. "Not you. Worldmind was downloading stats from your helmet."

"Oh." Sam frowned. He'd been spending a lot of time thinking about how having all these other Novas flying around would change things for him, but he hadn't really taken the Xandarian Worldmind into consideration. "I guess it makes sense it could do that."

"It does that with every Nova all the time," Rider said. "She's really nosy. And I'm pretty sure she enjoys making me look like a lunatic."

"Wait, it's a _she_?" Sam asked, eyes widening in alarm. 

"More or less. I'm kind of surprised she hasn't dropped in on you already," Rider said.

_In my head?_ Sam never would have believed it, but being Nova just kept getting weirder and weirder. 

"I haven't been wearing the helmet," Sam offered instead of continuing with that alarming line of thought. "There didn't really seem to be much, well..." he trailed off.

Rider sighed. "Yeah, a lot of the corps seems to be feeling that way. Hell, _I_ feel that way. Having the whole of the Nova Force to throw at a problem used to make a bigger dent."

"I know what you mean," Sam said truthfully. "I'm fifteen," he admitted after a pause. It wasn't like his dad would lie if Rider asked, and the Worldmind probably already knew. Anyway, unlike most teenaged heroes, he had actual parental consent to be out here. 

Rider eyed him measuringly. "Eh. I was a _little_ older when I got the gig, but you seem to be holding up all right. Shouldn't you be in school, though?"

"It's summer vacation." 

"Really?"

Sam nodded. He had to admit that it wasn't especially summery out here. Hell, even winter in Arizona was a bazillion degrees warmer.

"Huh. That puts you one up on me. When I went into space, I missed a bunch of school and ended up not graduating. Your way's probably better."

"My mom would _kill_ me." Just the idea made the hairs stick up on the back of his neck in alarm. 

"Funny, mine wasn't too thrilled either," Rider said dryly. 

"I met her once. And your dad," Sam said, sobered by the memory. "I brought your helmet home to them."

"I—thanks." Rider, who'd become animated during their conversation, his face present and alive with humour, suddenly looked a hundred years old. His gaze drifted back into some distance invisible to anyone else before focussing again on Sam. "Well, that almost turned into a conversation about feelings. Good thing we dodged that bullet."

Sam couldn't help a little snort of laughter at the glint in Rider's eye. "Don't let Vance hear you say that."

"Vance is abnormally well-adjusted, okay? It's like an extra mutant power." Rider pointed the forefinger of his remaining hand at Sam. "He moves things with his mind and remains un-fucked-up by crazy super-drama. That's the kind of mental stability that leads NASA to pick a guy for a thousand-year space mission, alone. The rest of us have to know our limitations."


	22. Chapter 22

After the third time Vance woke from a nightmare in a cold sweat, he gave it up for a lost cause. A glance at his alarm clock told him it was close enough to the time he usually got up, even though he'd really intended to follow Jake Waffles' advice and take it easy for a few days, cosmic emergencies aside.

A hot shower washed away some of the lingering aftereffects. Going through his usual morning routine made Vance feel a little more grounded in reality, although he had to shave around his yawns. 

Vance hesitated for a moment in front of his closet. He had a spare costume, but he really was supposed to be resting and not using his powers. Unlike some of the other members of the team, almost all of his clothes were here because this was where he lived, although an increasing number had migrated to Kaine's apartment in Houston. 

Vance ended up wearing the costume anyway, because if the likes of Ronan the Accuser were roaming the corridors, he wasn't going to be caught off-guard again. In the time he'd been away, this had blown up from a rescue mission to an intergalactic emergency. 

He opened his door just in time to see Selah jogging past beside Geena Drake. Selah broke off to throw her arms around him and plant a kiss on his cheek.

"See you at breakfast," she told him and sprang away. 

Bemused, Vance continued to the kitchen. It was nice to know he'd been missed.

He didn't find Kaine there, although Mark had already put the coffee on. Well, like coffee, Vance would take Kaine when he could get him. 

From the way Kaine had been hovering protectively over him ever since he'd returned, Vance had been tentatively expecting more watchful smothering. It was unexpected behaviour; and while Vance had never taken well to being coddled, he'd found it at least as much comforting as annoying, since it had kept Kaine within reach. 

Afternoon rolled around and there was still no sign of Kaine. Vance hadn't seen him since last night. Kaine had been persuaded to let him go up to his own room to sleep, albeit with a lot of unnecessary help in getting there. Vance had put up with it because he found it inexpressibly reassuring to lean against Kaine's side with their arms around each other. When he was in bed, Kaine had bent down to kiss him lingeringly, then disappeared.

Vance was starting to revise his expectations. Unless Kaine had his suit in camouflage mode so he could continue to shadow him without being obvious, the more likely scenario was that Kaine had stayed close until he was sure Vance was all right, left him to get some rest, and brooded through the night until he freaked out, instead of sleeping. 

"Hey, Marvel Boy," Vance greeted Quasar genially as he entered one of the active labs. 

"You were Marvel Boy longer than I ever was," Quasar pointed out from where he sat sprawled in a station chair.

They were in a lab that was for once actually being used as a lab, scientists from the various delegations hunched over the equipment, trying to come up with potential solutions to the problem. Things had gotten busy while he'd been gone. 

Nita rolled her eyes. "Couldn't you two have shared a less dorky codename?" 

Vance and Quasar looked traded amused looked. They had never known each other in more than passing, but there was something to sharing a codename, even a dorky one. 

"Aren't you supposed to be resting?" Quasar asked.

Vance shrugged. "I'm sitting down, and I'm not really in danger of understanding much of what's going on here."

There was an unladylike snort from Nita at that. She had followed Vance in here, reluctantly, because he was trying to catch up before things started happening again. 

Seeing Nita on her feet again was—unbelievable. Vance knew he was coming off a little silly, but considering he'd left her in critical condition—and before that mourned her as dead—it was hard to stop grinning. Talking with her was a good antidote to the searing memories of what Korvac had put him through, even though they kept running up against the breaks in their respective timelines.

Mid-way across the lab, someone spotted Quasar and waved him over. He spread his hands apologetically. "Duty calls."

"Hey, so, enough boring stuff," Nita said after he'd gone. "What about this boyfriend of yours?"

Vance suddenly felt as though his face was as red as hers was blue. "What about him?"

"How did you meet him? And what happened to Angel all of a sudden? Did the long-distance thing not work out?"

"She's with the X-Men now," Vance offered. "We broke up before I met K—Scarlet Spider. She'll be thrilled to know you're back." 

Nita shook her head. She was wearing her hair differently, braided back from her face in a way that made a lot of sense if she was wearing spacesuits or working in zero-G. "Angel's an X-Man, Rich is hob-nobbing with all these cosmic big-wigs. You have to admit, it's a little crazy."

"Vance and his ex-girlfriend were Avengers when they were engaged, but he doesn't like to talk about it." Aracely came sailing into the middle of their conversation. Vance fought the urge to bury his face in his hands. 

Nita gaped at him. "I don't even know where to start."

"How about with, 'he doesn't like to talk about it'?" Vance suggested without any real hope. 

"How about 'engaged'?" Nita countered. 

Vance gave Aracely a saturnine look. "Thank you for that."

"Of course!" she replied obliviously. Maliciously? She _had_ chosen Kaine for a mentor. 

"It was a long time ago," Vance told Nita. "It didn't work out. But I'm happy now."

Mostly happy; a little worried. From the beginning, it had been glaringly obvious that Kaine needed a certain amount of space. Vance could be patient and give him a chance to show up again on his own before tracking him down. It was a big ship, but it wasn't _that_ big. Vance just hoped that he was reading this right and giving him room he needed, not room to work himself up even more.

"You worry too much," Aracely told him confidently. "I talk to him all the time. Sometimes he gets grumpy and snarly about it, but nothing will ever stop him from being there when I need him. He's the same about you."

It would be nice if she were right. Vance would certainly be there for Kaine, if he could figure out how. 

"You look like a love-sick seal." Nita shook her head. "Help me out, kid. How long has this been going on?"

"If you keep asking about my love life, I'm going to consider yours fair game," Vance warned.

Aracely cocked her head, thinking. "After we banished the demon and the Avengers went away and Jake Waffles moved the mountain, Vance and Scarlet Spider ran into each other in the corridor and—"

"That's enough, Hummingbird," Vance said firmly, cheeks on fire again.

"It's not my fault you can't keep your hands off each other. Also, your feelings are very loud."

Nita's smile was positively shark-like. "They grow up so fast."

"So are yours," Aracely told her. "You're upset because no one will tell you that you're the one who chased the exploding man to the school where he blew up all the children and your friends and his friends. It started a war! All the heroes fought each other."

It was out before Vance could even try and stop her. Nita was deadly silent. Overcoming his own shock, Vance made himself turn to see her reaction. 

Nita's eyes found his, and she must have seen the confirmation written all over his face. Vance's heart sank. 

It had been inevitable, probably. But—how did you break something like that? What was the best time to tell someone they'd contributed to one of the darkest periods in modern history?

"How many?" 

"Nita, I don't think—"

"How. Many?" Nita growled, voice rising.

"Six hundred and six, plus three of Nitro's gang, you, Dwayne, and Microbe. Robbie was bounced clear of the explosion." 

Vance knew the casualty figures for the war that had followed, too; but he thought very firmly about how he wasn't going to drop that on Nita, with a pointed glance at Aracely. Stamford may have been the catalyst for the Civil War, but it was the mishandling of the aftermath by Tony Stark, Captain America, and the U.S. government that had led to it. 

Nita had always been the type to face problems head on. She wanted details and explanations, because after being dragged headlong though the biggest trauma of his life, what Vance really needed was to revisit the runner-up.

He at least got her to hold off until he could find someplace more private and shake off Aracely, who had helped quite enough for one day. They ended up in Vance's room, which he at least kept presentable. He'd dragged in a couple chairs and a loose desk that had probably been relegated to storage because it didn't contain any circuits, making it better furnished than Kaine's apartment in Houston. 

It was hard to talk about. It was hard to talk about without getting pissed off, although Vance found himself mostly sad and tired. Someone had to have this conversation with Nita. Rob Rider had ducked it; and on the whole it was probably better Vance do it than Robbie, who was the other option. _I should check on Robbie,_ he thought. 

Rich knew the basics, but he had barely touched down on Earth since before Stamford. Sil, maybe. But Silhouette always tended to keep a low profile, as it were. Even if Nita was pulled from an earlier time, they were close. Nita was like the big sister Vance never had. 

He tried to give Nita a coherent picture of what had happened instead of the welter of heartbreak and uncertainty it had seemed living through it, putting events in their proper places and not the confused order in which the world had found them out. The larger context that would hopefully help her see how much bigger it had all been than just the New Warriors and even Stamford and keep everything in perspective.

A lot of this Vance had gotten from Robbie, who had been more than a little obsessed as well as free of distractions. He did gloss over a fair amount of the personal stuff; that was Robbie's business, and Vance wasn't going to be the one to bring it up again. 

Graciousness had never been one of Nita's defining characteristics, and by the time she had wrung the whole awful story out of Vance, it was fairly clear that she wasn't very happy with him. Or any of the rest of the team, or the events Vance had recounted. 

Vance told himself it was only to be expected. There had been a reason everyone had been playing hot potato with this conversation, after all. Still, Vance wasn't in the best mood himself by the time Nita left.

Leaving Vance alone in his room. None of this had been very restful; in his current frame of mind, he'd rather have some company, though. The reality Korvac had created had been eerily deserted. 

Vance drifted down to where Jesse Alexander's crew of former slave gladiators was being sequestered away from the sensitive scientific and political proceedings. Just to check that everything was all right down there; not at all because he thought there was a chance he'd run into Kaine. 

No Kaine, but a mix of alien fighters eager to get home and fledgling superheroes with energy to burn made for surroundings as lively as Vance could have asked for. It was good for the kids to go up against people who fought dirty in an environment where being caught off-guard wasn't lethal. Vance wondered if he should start them on some hand-to-hand training when they got back to Earth. And by he, he meant Sil. 

Jesse Alexander came over and sat down next to Vance, who was critically watching a match between Selah and RrRRrR the Fang. There was a ring marked out on the gymnasium floor, but the combat was ranging freely through the air, Selah swooping and darting around and RrRRrR executing some seriously impressive leaps, bouncing off walls and ceiling to stick with her. 

"God, I miss that." Mr Alexander sighed, watching the aerial manoeuvres.

"I know what you mean," Vance said. "Still benched for a couple days," he added by way of explanation.

Mr Alexander looked him over judiciously. "You look robust enough to me."

"Head injury, mental powers. The problem's all up here." Vance tapped his forehead.

"You said it." Mr Alexander turned back to the match and shook his head. "She's almost as green as the green one."

"Hummingbird's been participating?"

Mr Alexander made the sort of face Vance often found himself making when Aracely got involved. "Mostly, she comes by later in the day. Mornings are for banging on the walls; afternoons, everyone starts sighing after home."

Vance winced. "How _are_ they holding up?" 

Mr Alexander spared him a wry glance. "Don't worry; they're being careful not to permanently damage your rookies." RrRRrR brought Selah crashing into the wall over their heads. "Fairly careful."

Vance hoped her equipment wasn't damaged. "I know your guys have gotten lost in the shuffle. I can probably talk to Rich, get him to use his connexions to start you all moving again. I think everyone would understand if you wanted to take Sam back to Earth, to be with your family, in case this all goes poorly."

Mr Alexander was still looking at him sideways. "Guess you did get knocked in the head. Look, kid, a long time ago, I signed up to protect the universe. I'm not about to leave you infants out here alone, wandering off and getting conked on the noggin. As for the rest...only about half of these guys really have something to go back to. I'll pass it along, but you try dragging them away from a fight." 

Vance opened his mouth, then wisely closed it before he stuck his foot in it again. He hoped there wouldn't be any more fighting, but he knew better than to trust that the Raptors wouldn't show up again. And having rescued the gladiators put them pretty solidly in the team's corner if diplomatic relations broke down. 

Selah limped out of the ring then and flopped down on Vance's other side, and the conversation turned back to a critique of her performance. She made quite a face at the comments, but attacked everything either of them said until it was explained to her satisfaction with a doggedness Vance was proud of. She really was starting to take things seriously.

 

_The_ Resolute Duty  
_Orbit_

"What are you?"

"Does the Datasong not tell you?" Starhawk asked. 

Razor tilted his helmet, exhausting his full range of motion. Restricting his possession of the form to the helmet was demanding work in this environment, even with the Nova ship's brig providing additional security. 

"It screams one thing over and over in this wrecked space. _Danger! Danger!_ Can you not hear it?" 

"Is that what you hear?" 

Starhawk examined him closely, on a more than physical level. Despite Razor's assertions, he knew Razor was paying as close attention to his presence in the Datasong as he was to Razor's. Restraining him strengthened the flow of information between them, even in these less than optimal conditions. As Starhawk learned from him, he was inevitably learning from Starhawk.

Unfortunately, the Fraternity of Raptors was now involved and clearly interested. Counterintelligence was a priority that justified the risk. 

That the Fraternity of latter days was corrupted, Starhawk had known. Finding them active in this timeframe was unexpected, but Starhawk's concerns had never prompted him to delve into much ancient history. 

How much of Starhawk's relative past could he read? The future tense was fragmented, fluxing, more broken even than the here-and-now. According to Geena Drake, Starhawk's very self was unstable, apparently fluctuating between Stakar, Aleta, and various conjoined states, although neither Martinex nor Nicholette had mentioned anything during the period they were stranded here. 

That these changes had continued after their arrival in the past indicated that the future tense continued to deteriorate: a serious matter indeed. Starhawk was curious to see whether Razor noticed any aberrations. To that end, he had asked Geena Drake to be present as well, to make note of any fluctuations and provide a cross-comparison.

Geena had agreed only reluctantly. She seemed to find Starhawk's company disagreeable recently, since his last switch. Geena said he had been Aleta before that, except that when Aleta came forward, he lost consciousness, and he had barely lost any time since arriving in the past. Most people found Aleta more likeable, but she was not the One Who Knows. 

Geena stood back glowering, her arms crossed. Being asked not to speak had not gone over well, but she was young and erratic, and might possibly reveal his temporal instability to the Raptors, contaminating the investigation. 

"What are you searching for?" Razor asked.

The answer was, of course, any hint of the Fraternity's plans. Suppressed by the human, Razor was disappointingly unaware of these. With luck, he would be unable to share anything he learned from Starhawk once Powell regained ascendance. This was the only chance for either side to discover something that might tip the scales; and frankly, after Talon's infiltration, Aleta and her confederates could use it more. 

There was a sharp intake of breath. Aleta glanced over her shoulder at Geena, then back at Razor. Dei, she must have let her hard light projection drop; Razor was moving inside the cell. 

Aleta hurried to put it back up. She hated ever missing Stakar, but there were things he could do that she couldn't. Razor was struggling. 

"Starhawk?" said Geena nervously. 

"Aleta. Working on it," Aleta grated through her teeth. 

"Qubit! Get ready to shut him down," Geena called to the centurion hovering by the brig controls. 

"Having problems?" Razor said, and it was eerie how he could give the impression of such a focussed stare through his glowing visor.

Aleta didn't understand; he had been under control before. What had—changed—

Oh, no. Her, it was Aleta. She was changing, and she couldn't remember it. In another blink of the eye, she could be Stakar; and it would be even worse than before, because she wouldn't even remember being her. 

_Focus._ Aleta could do this. He wasn't going to get away. Centurion Qubit's reflexes were the fastest in the fledgling Nova Crops: he would put Razor into stasis if she needed to, but then they wouldn't know when Powell returned with his information. Aleta did not need Stakar. She was enough on her own. 

Unfortunately, Aleta's darkforce powers were less effective against Razor than her former light ones would have been. Stakar was railing to take back control, which was more detrimental to her efforts than anything else that was going on. Heaven forbid he actually _help_. Stakar was demented enough to actually sympathise with the Fraternity's twisted goals. 

Razor cocked his head, as though listening for something just on the edge of hearing. Aleta reinforced her restraints on him, but he wasn't fighting. He hadn't even switched armours. Was it possible that he couldn't? The Datasong that the Raptors relied on for everything was somehow tied to the fabric of reality, which was cracked and splintered in this place. How vulnerable did that make them? 

Not enough, judging by their last confrontation. Aleta was worried about what other reasons Razor might have for quietly allowing himself to be detained. 

 

_The_ New Wundagore III  
_Surface_

"Shouldn't the plural of Nova be Novae?" Vance asked, looking around at where all of the corps that could be spared from babysitting Chris, who still wasn't back from his mental safari, were gathered. 

Rob's expression grew resigned. "Well, it's actually a translation from the Xandarian, and I'm pretty sure that Rich was the human template the Worldmind used to learn English from."

"Hey," Rich objected.

Vance nodded sagely. "Makes sense."

Nita and Sil exchanged a look; Rich heaved a put-upon sigh. Robbie snickered, and the Rigellian chick glared at him.

"Please do not move," she scolded him, sticking more stuff to his head. 

Vance was right; there were a lot of Novas gathered around, which didn't quite stop it from seeming like a New Warriors reunion. Rich's buddy Quasar was also hanging around for back-up. 

They'd all gathered in one of the more buried labs in order to hook Robbie up to some of the High Evolutionary's experimental equipment. Rich and Vance were keeping him distracted while Rob and Irani covered him with little sensor things. 

Vance was starting to look better. Robbie was kind of surprised to see him here without the Scarlet Spider; he hadn't thought you could pry him off with a crowbar, and even then you'd still probably end up getting beaten to death with it. Of course, Vance was basically the worst patient ever. Maybe it was a lover's spat, like what was clearly going on between Rich and Nita. 

Nita was pointedly standing with the non-geek Novas across the room. Rich had finally given in and juiced them all up again, which had raised their spirits. It wasn't like there wasn't a ton of other firepower available, but Robbie guessed Rich wanted to keep this one in the family. This was probably the least stabby group he could have put together, and all the Novas were trained to follow Rich's orders. 

Rich was, okay, not as on-board with this whole scheme as they had hoped. And granted it was a little crazy, but that was par for the course in this line of work. 

"Re-making reality," Rich muttered, shaking his head.

"Reinforcing," Robbie suggested. 

"I don't know; it still sounds a little close to mad scientist territory," Rich said dubiously.

"'Mad' is a strong word," objected Jake Waffles, over hobnobbing with the Worldmind.

"Thank you," Rob said. 

Rich ignored them. "And look at who we're asking for help. I've been down this road before." 

"And it saved the universe," Quasar reminded him. 

Rich still didn't look entirely convinced. It was Sil's idea, but it was Rich's villain, so guess who got elected to do the talking? They kind of needed his buy-in.

"I wish one of you had paid attention to how the Sphinx did this last time," Rob complained for the millionth time. 

"None of us was there," Vance reminded him. "Just Chris; and even if he weren't occupied, it's not like he could recreate the Sphinx's technology for you."

" _I_ was busy holding him off all by my lonesome," Rich added defensively. 

And everyone else had been lost in time. Robbie had gotten disappeared up his own existence for like a year, which was part of the problem they were facing now. 

Vance frowned, serious as ever. "Are you sure the equipment we have will do the job, Mister Waffles? I didn't think time travel was ever the High Evolutionary's area of study."

Waffles looked mournful, but that was at least in part the basset hound thing. "The master was interested in everything."

"I spoke extensively with Powell," Irani told him. "Your team's accounts agree with his that Speedball was able to isolate the desired time indices simply through concentration. It is forming the physical connexion that requires something more. This dimensional technology is reasonably sophisticated and should also lend itself to facilitating the requisite temporal applications."

"So, I can see anything anywhere at any moment in time just by thinking about it?" Robbie asked, possibilities starting to present themselves.

"If you want to look at naked women, buy porn like everyone else," Rich told him unsympathetically. Harsh.

Nita gave him the hairy eyeball. Yeah, speaking of lovers' spats. Rich and Nita never seemed to be able to decide whether they loved each other or hated each other, but there was always a lot of passion there. It had to make the sex pretty spectacular. Although it was anyone's guess whether they were actually sleeping together again. Probably not, given that expression. 

Cool as a cucumber, Irani totally didn't bat an eyelash. "I have no idea how you might perceive the discrete space-time units. However, we do have thorough recordings of the energy profile of the Ka stone, obtained during the Nova Prime's previous encounters. By connecting you to these additional instruments, it's possible we should also be able to confirm that you have identified the correct space-time locus before opening a portal."

Vance still looked dubious. "And this isn't going to crack open the fissure you're using, right?"

"The one you went through barely burped," Rob assured him. "We're only trying to make contact. If the Sphinx bites, we're thinking he won't need to use them to get here."

_"Ready when you are,"_ the Worldmind said. 

"You ready, Toothpick?" Rich asked. He almost clapped Robbie on the shoulder, then thought better of it

"What've we got to lose?" Robbie asked lightly. There were sensors stuck to various parts of his head and body, some with wires coming out of them and leading back to the computers where Rob and Irani sat, some not attached to anything at all. Speaking of mad scientists, this was reminding him more than a little of being in the clutches of Reed Richards and Hank Pym.

Irani tapped a few controls, then murmured something to Rob. He turned to Robbie.

"We need a baseline for the reactivity of your kinetic field."

Robbie returned him a bright, blank look. "Meaning...?"

Rob shrugged. "Somebody poke him."

"Seriously?"

Rich poked him. Robbie stuck out his tongue. 

The flying helmet bobbed agitatedly to one side. "Please try not to disturb the sensors, sir."

"Stop that. Now, focus," Rich told him. "Think back to last time. How did it feel when you went into the kinetic dimension, or whatever?"

Robbie blew his breath out in a long stream of air and closed his eyes. He could feel everybody watching him. Usually, that wouldn't be a problem; but right now Robbie felt weirdly close to aspects of himself he didn't generally speaking want people to see. 

That wasn't at all the side of his powers Robbie was trying to tap into now, though. Maybe it was the stillness throwing him off. _Still_ wasn't a very Speedball thing, and he needed to get back to a Speedball place. 

"How will we know if it's working?" one of the Novas murmured to Sil, not quietly enough. 

"Trying to meditate here," Robbie said without opening his eyes.

There was an embarrassed silence from across the room.

The problem was that Robbie hadn't felt that much like Speedball in a long time. Speedball had been a naïve kid, which Robbie was not anymore. Having his old powers burn out in the explosion had made it easier to leave that kid behind, killed by his own stupidity. Just draw a line and put everything from the past on one side of it.

Robbie had reclaimed those powers along with most of his sanity, but submerging himself in them now was proving unexpectedly difficult. He felt like a snake trying to crawl back into its shed skin, and it was a skin he'd sworn he'd never wear again. Robbie didn't _want_ to be that careless kid anymore. To tell the truth, that wasn't entirely what he'd wanted to be then, either; he just hadn't known what else to do.

It was so frustrating to have all this psychological crap getting in the way. Robbie drummed his fingers on this thigh, impatient with himself.

Well, he'd said he was meditating; might as well try and meditate. There were lots of kinds of meditation, Robbie had discovered over the past few years. He didn't do so well at the inner peace kinds; but a lot of meditation was actually about focus, and _that_ he'd had a use for. 

So, forget about the people, good friends who were also revenants from his past; this was about motion. Motion around him, motion inside him. Wow, that sounded dirty. That was totally not focussing. 

The other thing that was making this more difficult than it might have been was that, when the Sphinx had booted Robbie into the kinetic dimension, it hadn't exactly been him who'd come out again and brought everybody back from their temporal diaspora, it had been one of those weird duplicate things. The life of a superhero, right? So Robbie knew that this was a thing that could be done, theoretically, but he himself had not, in the strictest sense, actually done it before. 

Robbie projected his kinetic field out, just a little bit, to get the feel of it. Perpetual motion ready to boil out of him in endless bubbles. There was a reason Speedball had never stopped moving. 

Bubbles; that had always been a little weird. Each bubble a snapshot of the universe? Fading in and out of their dimension when Robbie activated his kinetic field.

Bit by bit, he shut away everything but the field, the way it responded to him. This, now—he'd touched this before. The field was a part of him, the field was him, he was as much a collection of infinite kinetic impulses as of flesh, blood, and bone. 

_Connected_ wasn't a strong enough word for it. Everything opened up, like he didn't even have skin anymore and there were no boundaries to his self. Robbie wondered if his body held its shape, back in the lab, if he was even still there at all. But no, the moment came to him like a dodge-ball hurtling at his head, everyone gathered around watching him in tense silence. 

_Okay, so I can steer this thing. Kind of._ Robbie reached back for the memory of the last time he'd found himself here. One moment he'd been on his way to the movies, the next exploded into a frenzied confusion that had stretched for a long time and no time at all—could you measure time when time was boiling around you like a swarm of angry Nazi bees?—the next, spit back out into the world. 

Robbie went back to that first moment, and instead of following himself, he tried to follow Michiko. He had a feeling that searching directly for the Sphinx's enormous non-linear timeline in all this non-linear mess would be a very bad idea. It would be too easy to catch the attention of the wrong one.

Who else had it been? Michiko, Chris, Carlton too, the little rat, and the Power kid? And Rich had claimed they'd pried Dagger away from Cloak, somehow. That would be the point, then, when all of them intersected again with the New Warriors and two Sphinxes had somehow become one, male and female, deeply weird but apparently not a raving maniac. Hopefully not a raving maniac.

Robbie hadn't been sure he'd be able to tell Enlightened Sphinx from the garden variety; but as it transpired, he definitely knew it when he saw it. It didn't look like any Sphinx he'd ever seen, no Egypt-o-rama headdress or crazy eyes—no distinct features at all that could be discerned through the blazing light radiating from the Sphinx-sized figure hovering above the assembled awe-struck heroes. 

_I can see why it stuck in Sil's mind._ Robbie plucked out one instant from the proliferating array that came seething up, wondering what happened next. 

"So, how do we get your attention in there?" he mused aloud. 

The glowing figure hung suspended at the centre of the moment, at once immense and very small, like a mountain range seen from a distance. It seemed to raise its face to look up at him. 

"Spooky. Okay, if you guys can hear me—" The figure's blazing eyes flared. "—Can _you_ hear me? Uh—your...Sphinxness?" 

It—they, Robbie supposed, was in this case accurate as well as politic—kept staring at him across the borders of reality. Should he say something? Or just wait for the brain trust to open the portal? Robbie had really very little experience with Sphinxes, all told. 

_Hoo, boy._ Robbie took a deep breath. "If you can hear me, we need to talk to you. There's some hinky time-space continuum stuff going on, and yours was the first name we thought of."

Not strictly speaking true, but oh well. What would Vance say in this situation? "We could really use your help." _Team Universe Wants You!_ "We're a few years down and a couple galaxies over. I don't know if you can follow me back... Just," Robbie continued warily, "you can, like, be careful, right? I would really appreciate not being responsible for any more...horrifying...catastrophes..."

Robbie's voice trailed away. The Sphinx was...he didn't know what. His perspective was changing. Like when the moments had started boiling up, only now it was the glowing figure somehow becoming more and more, ribboning out in endless convolutions.

_Oh, shit._ Robbie started to panic. The Sphinx's timeline was overwhelming, twisting back on itself as it uncoiled like a writhing snake, one of those bus-sized anacondas that swallowed hapless extras down whole. 

Was the Sphinx doing this? _Am I?_ Was anything actually happening, or was it all just in Robbie's head? Robbie wondered what would happen to him if the Sphinx ruptured something coming through. Would he survive this cataclysm, too, shielded by his powers? Robbie wasn't sure which thought made him sicker: that he'd be trapped like this forever, or that he'd be spat back out into the ruins. _Rich was right; this was a bad idea._

Too late, too late, he was frozen helplessly in this slow-motion flashpoint. Then all of a sudden Robbie snapped back like a rubber band. He was so disoriented he couldn't focus enough to resorb the kinetic backlash that sent him ricocheting around the room. Swallowing unaccustomed nausea, he felt a backwards pull dragging at him. When he fell the last few inches to the floor, he only bounced a little. 

"Ugh." 

"A graduated gravimetric field applied opposite the direction of travel," said a cool female voice. 

Robbie looked up. Irani was regarding him with an assessing gaze. As he watched, she turned her attention from him to something on the other side of the room. 

Robbie swivelled around on his butt to see what she was looking at. _Oh. Damn._

His movement drew a few more glances from his friends around the room, but everyone's attention was fixed on the Sphinx. The big, glowy, definitely-here Sphinx. _Well, I guess it worked._


	23. Chapter 23

It wasn't that Kaine had been avoiding Vance since he got back on his feet—well, no, to be honest, it was a little that. Vance _had_ caught up to him a few times, though. Kaine didn't seem mad, precisely; more monosyllabic. His inward-turned expression was hard to decipher when his face was even visible, but Vance thought he had probably been right about the brooding. 

Vance was—glad to be back; but everything that had happened with Korvac had shaken him, there was no point in denying that. Him disappearing after dragging them all out to this alien place had affected the team, too; he could tell by their reactions when he came back. Kaine's had been pretty dramatic.

They could both really stand to talk about it, so of course Vance was busy and Kaine was keeping to himself. Determined, Vance went looking for him, despite the hour. He hadn't been sleeping well anyway.

Surprisingly, Kaine was in the first place he looked: the bedroom across the hall from his own. Vance had stuck his head into Kaine's room to confirm he wasn't there and been confronted with the sight of Kaine wearing nothing but a towel slung around his hips, obviously fresh from the shower. And sure, Vance's intention had been to have a conversation; but he found himself mesmerised by the droplets of water running down into the hollow of his throat and tracing the beautifully-defined contours of his muscular chest and arms. 

The breath caught in Vance's throat as he was ambushed by a sudden spike of want. Kaine met his eyes.

"You coming in or what?" 

A shiver ran up Vance's spine at the growl in Kaine's voice. He stepped inside, letting the door close behind him. 

Kaine waited, watching him. It was oddly like a challenge, but Vance was confident. He strode across the room to where Kaine stood dripping, tilting his own head to catch Kaine in a kiss. Kaine bit him back, and it was a short step to hot and dirty.

One of Kaine's hands was still holding his towel up. Vance covered it with one of his own and tugged so the towel fell away and their fingers tangled briefly in a bone-threatening grip. 

Vance didn't know what he had expected, but Kaine wasn't treating him like he was fragile now. He crowded Vance up against the bed until he toppled back onto it, unable to catch himself because Kaine was dragging the top half of his costume off over his head.

He landed on top of Vance, driving the breath out of him; and if he wasn't going to be careful, damned if Vance was. There was something hot and raw inside him that had been screaming to get out ever since Korvac, a desperate need to re-establish this connexion. This, _this_ was his life.

He rolled Kaine, and Kaine rolled him right back, hands halfway down his tights already and clutching bruises into his hip bones. Stubble rasped under Vance's jaw, but Kaine pulled back again. He darted in here and there, biting at Vance's collarbones, pinching a nipple, making Vance chase after him, try and pull him down into contact. 

Vance huffed out a breath in frustrated arousal and flipped them again, pinning Kaine securely to the mattress. The power came easily when he reached for it, with no faltering or twinge of pain.

Caught, Kaine didn't try to fight the unseen bonds. Instead, he arched into them, a low moan of arousal escaping his parted lips. 

The shock of realisation was so strong that Vance released him without even thinking. Kaine frowned up at him, looking put out.

"Do you _want_ me to hold you down?"

Kaine propped himself on his elbow and glared. "You got a problem with that?"

"No," Vance said reasonably, feeling an odd, fond warmth for his utter lack of communication skills blooming in his chest. "But we're not doing it without a safe-word. Also, you could try asking next time."

"Aardvark. Now would you please get with the programme already?" Kaine asked testily. 

Partly to be contrary but mostly to get naked, Vance rolled away to sit on the edge of the bed, where he could finish wriggling out of the remainder of his clothes. Kaine actually webbed him in the back to reel him in again. 

Twisting around, Vance gave him what he wanted and pressed him down, holding him in place while he fucked his tongue into Kaine's mouth. He stretched out, relishing Kaine's undeniable solidity, the warmth of his skin, and his endlessly filthy mouth. Kaine kissed even dirtier than he talked, which was saying something. 

It was so good; Vance never wanted to stop. When his emptied lungs finally gasped in the breath they were screaming for, he huffed a frustrated noise.

"I love you." They were close enough their lips brushed when he spoke, chests heaving against each other as they panted after air. 

Kaine didn't say anything; but Kaine didn't, always. He had asked to be held down, though, so he was going to take what Vance gave him. And Vance—Vance was going to take what he wanted.

At the moment, Vance wanted to be touching everywhere. His hands retraced every familiar contour of the body beneath his, imprinting Kaine's reality on his hungry senses. Kaine was hard against him, both their cocks trapped between their stomachs. They rubbed together as Vance dragged his mouth across Kaine's chest and up his stubble-rough neck to dive into his mouth again. 

That was something else Vance wanted. Not willing to relinquish Kaine's mouth, he reached out with his mind. 

It was just as well, since the lube had apparently fallen over the side of the bed the last time they'd been in it together and skittered off somewhere underneath. Vance fished it out eventually, although it wasn't exactly the first thing on his mind when he had Kaine pinned like this. Kaine took some pinning. 

Vance worked himself open, still sprawled over Kaine, as close as close. Kaine was far from passive, grinding up against him as much as his restraints would allow. They thrust their hips together, cocks wet and getting wetter as lube from where Vance was fucking himself dribbled down. 

He was making noises into Kaine's mouth that sounded filthy even to him. Kissing was getting to be one thing too many to keep straight, but Vance was stubbornly unwilling to stop trying. 

"Love you," he repeated breathlessly against Kaine's warm skin, eliciting a full-body shiver. 

"Vance," Kaine moaned. 

"Almost," Vance promised him, hearing a world in that one word, his name on Kaine's lips. 

Kaine bit off a curse into his jaw when he wrapped a slick hand around them both. As useful as Vance's telekinesis was in this situation, one thing it didn't do was warm up the lube. 

Vance gave them a series of lingering strokes, unable to keep from thrusting into his own hand. It was dangerously tempting to keep going like this until he'd wrung everything out of both of them.

With a monumental effort of will, Vance lifted up onto his knees, planted on either side of Kaine's thighs, and inched forward until he was straddling Kaine's hips, his grip on Kaine's dick shifting until it was lined up where he was holding himself open. 

He had seized Kaine's hips, too, now, to keep him from thrusting prematurely. Kaine's pupils were dilated, and he looked about half a second away from cussing Vance out and maybe a whole second away from coming. Vance had his hands, clenched into fists now, caught on either side of his head and his feet trapped down by the foot of the bed to curtail his potential leverage. There were red marks from Vance's mouth blossoming into bruises across his chest and neck, soon to fade.

"Fuck, get the fuck on with it," Kaine snarled, fighting against the invisible restraints. "You going to do something, or you just want to look?"

Vance flicked his eyes down at himself and then at Kaine, the picture they made together. "Looks pretty good to me."

Kaine, of course, had a better angle to see where Vance's hand disappeared between his legs to keep Kaine's dick in place in preparation for the main event. He rubbed his thumb over the head, and every muscle in Kaine's body jerked taut.

"I can keep you from coming," Vance said with a careful telekinetic tug on his balls. "I can keep you like this all night long."

Kaine made a strangled sound in his throat as Vance finally sank down onto his cock. He made sure to catch Kaine's eyes, then found he couldn't look away. 

The only response to that wild, burning look was to be closer, closer, to let Kaine into him and reach out with his mind where his body couldn't. Kaine shuddered under his caresses. Seated, Vance ran a hand up his flat stomach, bracing himself. Kaine was breathing hard. 

"Got you. I've got you." 

Vance leaned in, stroking Kaine's side first, then his rough cheek. His irises were thin rings of colour around blown pupils. He was restless with arousal, tossing his head and biting at Vance's fingers. 

Taking his weight onto his other elbow, he let Kaine suck them in. Vance spread his knees a little wider and started rocking back. 

Touching everywhere had become almost full-body restraint. He gave a little as Kaine twisted and his muscles flexed, loving the way they moved together, letting Kaine feel the push back, if that was what he wanted. 

Over Kaine, yes, and now inside him. Vance ground his hips, pinning him between the two pleasures. And just because he _could_ , because it _felt good_ , Vance held Kaine down and fucked him as he fucked himself on Kaine, letting the fact that he was whole and here and loved become all of his reality.

Kaine moaned indistinctly around the fingers that slipped from his lips when Vance had to grab his shoulder for more leverage. He could feel release drawing up under his skin. Kaine was close, too, by the stuttering of his body and harsh rasp of his breath. 

"Now. Kaine, _now_ ," Vance said, hanging on by his fingernails. 

"Fuck," Kaine swore in ambiguous response, digging his heels in out of sheer contrariness.

" _Now._ "

And, wonder of wonders, Kaine followed orders for once. Vance had already let the final surge towards orgasm start to rush through him. They crashed together; Vance felt Kaine come inside him. As far as he was concerned, he could never feel that often enough. 

Collapsing half—well, more than half—on top of Kaine, Vance finally let go his restraint. Kaine could shift the limp weight of his body with hardly any effort at all, but instead he brought his arms down slowly to rest around Vance's waist, and Vance settled in with a contented sigh. "Kaine."

Kaine's grip tightened in reassurance. Vance could see his eyes close as he inhaled deeply, losing sight as Kaine turned his head so his bristly cheek lay against Vance's shaved one.

By the time Vance finally bestirred himself to summon a washcloth from the bathroom, they were definitely stuck together. Kaine grumbled half-voiced irritation at his slow carefulness in unsticking them, as the damp cloth failed to make their separation entirely painless anyway. There were bruises on his wrists and ankles, too.

Vance considered him a little warily. "Are you...really into that kind of stuff?"

Vance was more than okay with holding Kaine down when he wanted it, and he'd freely admit to what a turn-on it was to be pinned by Kaine's solid weight and unyielding muscles. He just wasn't sure he was up for leather masks and leashes. Knowing Kaine, he was pretty certain that anyone who tried to put a leash on him would be needing it to attach their head to their body, though. _Vance_ certainly wasn't going to be wearing one; an inhibitor collar had been bad enough.

Kaine seemed to take his meaning. "I—look. You know about the clone thing."

"Sort of. There was Spider-Man, and you, and the original Scarlet Spider?"

Kaine made a face like he had a bad taste in his mouth. "Warren got it right with him. Got it wrong with me; in a lot of ways. I was falling apart. From the beginning, I could feel myself dying, inch by inch. Most people, they think sex has to feel good. So I found people who weren't afraid of pain."

"I won't hit you," Vance said quietly. As much as he felt like popping Kaine one sometimes, he didn't think he could actually bring himself to do it outside the context of sparring.

"That's—no, that's not what I want." Kaine's arm tightened around him. "That stuff—it's all about choices. A mad, wretched creature, afflicted with visions, covered in scars, rejected, dying—control was the best thing I could manage to feel."

"You're not—" Vance looked up at him sharply, but he was staring fixedly at the ceiling. They were having this conversation, finally, touching nearly everywhere but not looking each other in the eye. That was very like Kaine.

"No, no. I was cured." He vented a bitter little laugh. "After all those years, I was cured completely by accident. It's amazing. When I touch you, I can _feel_ you. All my life, I never imagined anything could feel so good."

Vance pressed in closer, trying to find the words. Maybe Kaine had it right: some things were just too big for them. Kaine passed a rough hand over Vance's back as though to reassure himself he could still feel him.

"I want..." Vance began quietly, then trailed off.

"What?" Kaine murmured.

"I want," Vance said, because he had to get it out, pushing up on his elbow and trying to catch Kaine's eyes, "to know you aren't going to run off to Mexico without giving me the chance to come with you." 

"That's bullshit. No way you say yes." 

"There's good work to do in Mexico, too. But that's not the point." 

"Why do we have to talk about this now? We're in _outer space_." 

"And you followed me here. Do you think I wouldn't follow you to another part of the continent?" 

Kaine seemed struck by that, as though he hadn't considered how far he'd let Vance take him. Maybe in more ways than one?

Vance waited, heart in his mouth. He'd been afraid to push Kaine, because he'd pushed Angel and he'd lost her. And while rationally he knew some of the blame was on her, too, for not telling him she was having second thoughts, it had shaken him. 

He didn't want to hide things from Kaine. He didn't want Kaine to feel he had to hide things from him, either. The confidence he'd just been given was heart-rending, but he treasured it for what it signified: that maybe Kaine wasn't so far behind him here after all. Vance knew Kaine's past wasn't easy for him to discuss. What he wanted was to be someone Kaine could talk to when he needed it. 

"Crazy bastard," Kaine said at last, as always uncomfortable with so much honest emotion. "Just don't be disappointed when I don't have any universe-ending catastrophes to keep you busy."

"Oh, I'm sure I'd find some way to occupy myself," Vance murmured against his lips, his delivery marred by an enormous yawn.

Kaine snorted indelicately. A retaliatory punch to the shoulder didn't quite manage to be very convincing. He really was tired. Vance settled down to sleep, feeling better than he had in what seemed like very a long time.


	24. Chapter 24

_The_ Resolute Duty  
_Orbit_

"Strontian. _You_ are not a member of this puerile Nova Corps. Am I recalled at last to the service of the empire? Have you come to free me from these inferior species?"

Kallark regarded the armoured figure in front of him and felt a surge of such violent rage he was halfway across the brig to the creature's cell before he was aware of moving. His eyes burned. 

"Uh, easy there, big guy. This interview isn't going to take very long if you incinerate him before you ask any questions." 

Kallark growled at this human squeamishness but didn't glance aside at Rider. He didn't light up the assassin, either, though. Instead, he moved forward, closer to where the armoured figure stood behind an energy barrier in the brig of the Nova Corps ship _Resolute Duty_. 

The force field wasn't what was keeping Razor inside the cell. It was, apparently, the dour and aloof Starhawk. This one was not only secretive, he was apparently schizophrenic. Clearly, he was choosing to appear this way to set himself apart from the rest of the Fraternity in the eyes of those assembled here, much as Talon had disguised himself as Minister Araki. 

Kallark's lip curled. _Traitors and deceivers._ He stopped within arm's reach of Starhawk, conscious that the other Raptor might have placed himself here so he was in a position to intervene if Razor revealed too much under duress. Kallark intended to supply a _lot_ of duress.

"Do not speak of service to the empire. You are a traitor. You murdered the rightful majestrix of the Shi'ar. Nothing can save you from that."

"If such a thing has been done, it was not done by me," replied Razor, unmoved. "Unless—it could have been the human parasite. It seized control from me. It imprisons me within myself and abuses my powers for its own venal ends. Destroy it—please—free me, if you are truly loyal to your Shi'ar masters. The preservation of the empire is my only reason for existence."

Kallark bared his teeth. "I have no masters. I am Gladiator, praetor of the Imperial Guard and majestor of the Shi'ar. _I_ preserve the empire."

The glowing red slit in Razor's helmet met his gaze, his briefly assumed posture of servility falling away. "Emperor Vulcan spoke in much the same way."

Kallark suppressed a finch, keeping his own face as impassive as the Raptor's metal helm. He was a fighter, a leader of warriors, a general even—not a bureaucrat, diplomat, _politician_. There was no one else, not with Lilandra gone. But Kallark didn't have her patience, her subtle mind, that quality that reached out and touched the hearts of those around her... What the empire needed him to be was nothing he'd ever envisioned for himself. But he was Gladiator; he served.

His expression grew hard. "If you have any loyalty left, you will answer your majestor's questions. Why did you kill Lilandra Neramani?"

"The designate did you a service when he eliminated her, it is true. Her rule did not benefit the empire. It has grown weak and soft; she only made it more so."

Kallark felt his lips draw back in a snarl. "You will say it to my face. _You_ killed her. Say it!"

Razor tilted his helmet, not attempting to escape the Darkforce restraints Starhawk had wrapped around him. "You know by now what it takes to rule. But you must do more than simply rule. The imperium is the culmination of thousands of years of careful shaping. Untended, it all too easily goes awry. Look at the upheavals of just the past two decades. I believe you are our best hope. Let us help you guide the empire back to greatness." 

"Admit your crime and accept your punishment."

"I can't undo what's been done, Majestor; and you can't destroy me. Let my service atone for whatever personal grief you've suffered."

Rider's eyes snapped back to Kallark as he sucked in a sharp breath, pushed to the very outermost bounds of his discipline and restraint. "Then obey me as your majestor." _For the few moments left before I obliterate you._ "Tell me what Talon's plans are. Tell me how to get my people back."

Razor looked smug. The fool. "No Raptor could work against the empire, but I can't discern Lord Talon's plans from here. The systemic damage in this region of space is much too pervasive. Command these to release me, and I will seek him out for you to tell him you're with us."

"And my guardsmen?" 

"They guard the empire still, if they are among our number. The Raptors and the guard aren't really all that different." 

"What are your goals here? If you're so loyal, why do you sneak around behind our backs and attack our allies?" Kallark pressed. His hands balled into fists as he held himself back from punching through the gravimetric containment field. 

"My only goal is to gain your trust, Majestor." 

Kallark snarled. "Make him talk," he told Starhawk. 

Because there was no flesh and blood entity in front of him, only unfeeling metal animated by some nefarious spirit, wringing answers from the Raptor through sheer force of pain was, unfortunately, not an option. Starhawk seemed able to exercise some sort of control over Razor, though, keeping him subdued. 

The star-touched figure shuddered, its voice shifting weirdly. "There are things he doesn't know. He's been suppressed since the War of Kings."

"How do you know?" Rider stirred himself to ask. Rider had been lurking to one side, not interfering, but ready to intervene if he decided Kallark had crossed a line.

"I am One Who Knows," Starhawk pronounced sententiously. 

"The War of Kings." Kallark ignored this. "When? Who lies, the Raptor or the human? Or are they working together?" _Who killed Lilandra?_

"It wasn't Darkhawk," Rider insisted. 

"Your sentiment is nauseating," Starhawk said. "However, in this instance it's factually correct." There was an ugly note to Starhawk's voice.

"Why?" Kallark grated. 

Starhawk's face contorted into an entirely different expression of disgust. "All Raptors care about is power. They might say it's your empire, but they want to be the ones controlling it, so that's what it comes down to. What they can't control, they destroy." 

Razor's visor flared, and Starhawk jerked his head angrily to the side. "Enough!"

A movement in the cell drew Kallark's attention the rest of the way back to Razor. Starhawk's apparent internal struggle was weakening the restraints on him. He flexed his arms against them where before he'd stood calmly, apparently unconcerned by his captivity. 

"Silence, woman!" Starhawk yelled nonsensically, since the only female present was Gina Drake, silent and pale-looking, clutching a weapon almost the same size she was. 

"Let me go, he's getting free," Starhawk protested, voice changing. "That won't help him now," he argued with himself. "Well, he's obviously going to try it."

"What in blue blazes?" Rider asked, unsettled. He pushed off from the wall he'd been leaning against but still hung back. 

"No!" Starhawk shouted just as Razor snapped the Darkforce bonds that had checked him. 

_Yes_ , thought Kallark savagely, surging forward at last. He barely noticed the cell's force screen as he punched through it, slamming Razor back into the wall hard enough to leave a dent. 

They struggled. Razor hit him point-blank with heavy blasts of Darkforce energy, but there was something in rage that went beyond confidence, and Kallark was nearly invincible. Letting anger overwhelm you in combat was unprofessional in the extreme, but Kallark pinned Razor with a hand around his throat and pounded at the crystal in the centre of his cuirass, screaming out his wrath.

A golden wall thrust him violently aside. Kallark hurled himself against it, but this one didn't buckle. He realised someone was saying something.

"—the hell _off_ , Gladiator, before you crack this iceball like an egg. I've got him under control," Rider was saying.

He had Razor in a gravimetric bubble, humanely confined again. Kallark drew himself up and seriously considered going after Rider, too. That was crossing a line. Only the hideously plausible prospect of opening another Fault stayed his immediate response. 

Razor struck out against it immediately. "Do you, now?"

He didn't come close to breaking free, but the power Rider was having to pour on to contain him was enough to charge the air. The challenge was obvious.

Rider held out for a moment longer, then dropped the gravimetric bubble with a growl of frustration. Razor deliberately brushed him as he literally flew out of the brig.

This time, Rider didn't try to stop Kallark's headlong pursuit. He fell in behind, barking orders over his com. 

"You should not have shown weakness," Kallark told him as they exited the nearest airlock.

_"If he heads for the tear, we turn him around,"_ Rider told him. _"Otherwise, we let him run until we're in a more stable region of space and take him down. I don't want him blasting a fissure open on top of a ship."_

"What about your friend?" Kallark asked.

_"Problem one with Raptors: they're indestructible,"_ Rider pointed out grimly. _"I don't think we_ can _hurt Darkhawk until he regains control and shifts out of the armour. I just want to keep tabs on him."_

"Have you considered that he might be leading us into an ambush?"

Rider spared a moment to give Kallark a predatory grin. _"It'd have to be a hell of an ambush to take out the two of us. Besides, I wouldn't mind having some idea of where Talon's crew is and what they're up to."_

Kallark felt an answering grin stretch his lips. It seemed Rider was as weary of the cosseting and inaction of their current position as he felt as majestor.

Ahead of them, Razor accelerated along a trajectory taking him back towards the frozen planetoid. 

"Can you follow him if we lose line of sight?" it occurred to Kallark to ask.

_"Don't know. I wish Starhawk could keep his shit together."_

The only reply Kallark made was a growl. He wasn't about to let Rider's softheartedness rob him of his vengeance. Kallark put on another burst of speed. 

"Which way is he heading?" The Worldmind must have been tracking Razor's course relative to the heaviest damage. Although the tear on the surface of the planet receding behind them was the focus of everyone's attention, it wasn't actually the densest area of damage, or Rider would never have been able to contain it in the first place.

_"Not towards the tear."_ Rider sounded more puzzled than relieved. _"Do you think he's actually not trying to blow us all up?"_

"He could have done that back on the ship, if that was what he wanted," Kallark pointed out. 

_"Yeah, I'm more worried about what'll happen if he dives into one of those cracks. We just got everyone rounded up; I'm not wild about haring off again now with things coming to a boil."_

"He won't escape." _Not this time._ Kallark sped up, closing the distance rapidly now.

Rider kept pace with him, his own stamina irrelevant when it was subsumed by the Nova Force. Ahead of them, Razor jinked. Evasion? Evading what? Another hidden fracture?

Let him try and dodge what was coming. Kallark bared his teeth. 

Razor swerved again, dumping speed, although he didn't turn yet to fight. Rider made a noise of surprise. _"That's a power fluctuation."_

They were close enough now that Kallark could see Razor was favouring one side. _Had_ he been hit by something? Something neither Kallark nor Rider had detected. Something powerful enough to damage the Raptor. 

Razor put on another burst of speed, trying futilely to reach whatever goal he was aiming for. Without having to say anything, Kallark and Rider split to bracket their quarry. Razor veered sharply away from Kallark. _It seems I've made an impression._ The Raptor was so scared and damaged he didn't realise Kallark was driving him into Rider until the first gravimetric blast hit. 

It spun him right back into Kallark's flight path, and Kallark hit him with a truly satisfying impact. Razor thrashed, struggling ineffectually to disengage. Kallark stuck with him, exchanging blows and trying to get a bead on the crystal that was the source of the Raptor's power.

"No!" Razor shouted. He shoved at Kallark with nothing like a Raptor's usual finesse. 

Kallark forced the opening he wanted, wrenching at the metal limbs to expose the crystal. Anger exploded from the itching place in his eye sockets into a doubled column of burning light. 

Razor yelped and sent a blast of Darkforce back at him. "Fuck! Oh, for fuck's sake, not again."

"Chris?"

"Rich! Dammit, I told you bucket-heads this was a bad idea. Get him off me!"

 

To say that getting Gladiator off of Chris wasn't easy would have been an understatement. Rich sucked absently on his split lip. 

Things had been looking pretty bad until Chris had gotten enough space to pant, "Will you at least let me tell you what I found before you rip my arms off? And not to be colourist or something, but you purple people could use some anger management tips, too."

"Purple—? Plutonia. You found them?"

Chris had vanished the armour, in a demonstration that he really was in control. Rich breathed an internal sigh when his HUD showed Chris's power levels drop; it was for real.

"Yeah. Mentor says hi and that the Raptors know _way_ too much about what we're doing here." 

So Chris was still in possession of all his limbs, for now. He'd shifted back to his armour before he got frostbite, and they had been going back up to the _Resolute Duty_ to double-check Starhawk hadn't finally lost it for real when the Worldmind picked up something going on out beyond their perimeter. Or rather, something coming in. 

Rich diverted without stopping, with a mind to bypassing his brother's inevitable objections. This was as out-of-the-way a corner of the cosmos as he'd ever seen, but all this sudden activity was bound to attract attention. They'd sucked in three emperors and _Galactus_ , for pity's sake. 

Absolute secrecy was by now a pipe-dream, but Rich still had a strong feeling that they should in no way let it get out to the rest of the universe what they were planning here. The potential complete shredding of reality would not go over well, he was pretty sure. 

"What've we got?" Rich asked Worldmind. "Looks too small to be a ship."

_"Uh-oh, I'm getting a match,"_ the Worldmind responded. "Richard Rider, it is critical that you pay attention at this time."

Rich stiffened at her tone, coming onto high alert. "Oh, why don't I like the sound of that?"

_"Rider, it's—"_

Chris, who was plugged into his own information stream, got there first. _"Fuck me, Rich; it's Thanos."_

Rich wished there were a wall within a thousand miles so he could bang his head against it. He heard Gladiator growling over the coms. Not your most retiring galactic emperor, Gladiator.

_"Speaking of violent purple nutjobs,"_ Chris said. 

This was actually worse than the Raptors. Thanos was a maladjusted, over-revved, power-hungry super-genius with a death fixation, which only made it all the more infuriating that he wouldn't stay in the ground. "We are so, so screwed."

_"I suppose you don't want me to kill him, either,"_ Gladiator offered.

"...I'm thinking. No, dammit; not here." 

_"Not so easy when it's_ your _enemy, is it?"_ Gladiator said passive-aggressively. Rich supposed getting him down to _passive_ aggression was an accomplishment. 

Rich didn't respond, just rocketed ahead into the blank and shadowy space occupied by his least favourite person in all the cosmos. He thought about Thanos, and the delicacy of their situation out here. He thought about Drax's compulsively violent reaction whenever Thanos was anywhere nearby. He thought about Gamora. There was a sick, angry feeling in his gut.

"Worldmind, calculate a stargate." 

_"Where to?"_

"I don't care, just get us out of here," Rich snapped. 

_"Oh, I see what you're doing. That's almost clever, Rider."_

Rich savoured the expression on Thanos' ugly purple mug when he slammed into him and Thanos recognised who exactly had just ruined his day. He bared his teeth as he rammed Thanos through the stargate that opened behind him

In his peripheral vision, Rich could see Chris and Gladiator following him in. Thanos struggled, pounding on him and trying to struggle out of his one-armed grasp. 

It was a short transit, because while Rich would have loved to drop Thanos on the other side of the universe, he was already starting to muscle free. They came out in another sector, marginally less remote. The galaxy that was only a dim pinprick on the orphan planetoid was a faintly luminous smudge now. 

Necessarily, Rich let go of Thanos to deliver a gravimetrically augmented punch to what he hoped was where a Titan Eternal kept his kidneys. Unfortunately, space being space, the blow also caused Thanos to spin away. 

Thanos straightened himself out, a squat, broad-shouldered figure Rich could only see because of the way his helmet enhanced his surroundings. And the ferally glowing red eyes.

"Rider." Thanos made his voice heard somehow, through the vacuum. It was low and filled with hatred. _So nice to know we're on the same page._ "I'd wondered what drew me here. We have unfinished business." 

_Too right._ "Well, it's not like it's news you have a death wish. I'm kind of busy with something right now. But if you don't mind waiting while I finish up, I'll shoot you in the head at my earliest convenience." 

Chris and Gladiator had automatically spread out to surround Thanos, which also incidentally let them keep an eye on each other. Thanos didn't miss noticing them. 

"Why wait?" Thanos growled, gathering himself. 

Rich cocked his head, feeling the adrenaline already circulating like electricity in his bloodstream. "Yeah, I can make time." 

Over the com, Chris cracked a short laugh. From his conversations with Gladiator over the past week, Rich was pretty sure the guy was just glad to finally be allowed to punch _someone_. 

Everyone unloaded at once, including Thanos. It was a beautiful moment. Since there was nothing to brace against in space, or aerial combat in general, really, when you fired at a stationary target, a lot of the force got transferred as momentum. Hits on a moving target could actually be more damaging. But with them putting pressure on him from both sides, Thanos was getting the full effect. 

It didn't last long. Thanos had taken his shot not at Rich but at Chris, singling him out as the weakest of them. Which wasn't as true as it used to be, given that the Darkhawk armour wasn't completely slagged. 

Chris still went spinning. _Now_ Thanos came at Rich; Gladiator didn't stop his attack. 

Rich dodged out of the way and added a collumated beam to what was coming out of Gladiator's eyeballs. He wondered if Gladiator regularly incinerated treaties and paperwork by accident. 

In the time it took Thanos to evade and turn back around, Rich spared a glance for Chris. He had righted himself, too, and called up a bulkier suit of armour with heavier weapons. 

"Take a breath, Darkhawk," Rich warned him, despite the nasty glare that got him. "We need to fight smart. And watch your lines of fire," he added, addressing Gladiator, too. "We can't afford to hold back, but we don't need to be blowing each other out of the sky." Gladiator was a professional, but the three of them were hardly a practiced team. Rich was hoping that Gladiator would recognise they needed as much firepower as possible on this one instead of taking the opportunity to frag Chris.

That was all the more time Rich had to put Chris on his guard. Thanos came barrelling back at them, swinging around as he fired concentrated energy blasts, trying to get them to line up.

Rich manoeuvred to keep from blocking the others; he noticed Gladiator doing the same. It was the familiar laser-show flurry of strike, evasion, and correction. Fuck, but when Thanos hit him, he _felt_ it. Rich's only consolation was that Thanos seemed to be feeling it too. The amassed Nova Force was nothing to sneeze at.

Fighting alongside Gladiator was intense. Used to working in a team, he could in fact apparently put his ego aside to get the job done. His set-ups were beautiful, and he wasn't afraid to get up close and personal, sometimes wrenching Thanos around into position to take a hit from Rich or Chris. 

Chris, Rich had teamed up with enough in the past that they mostly didn't get in each other's way. He was usually a solo operator, and it showed; but every time Thanos blasted him away, he came rushing back again.

_"Christ, that's weird to see,"_ Chris said, flying past.

Years of battle-reflexes had yet to catch up with the new reality of Rich's missing arm. But unlike throwing a punch, wielding the Nova Force didn't actually depend on specific body parts. Rich's unassisted fist would never have stood up to impact with Thanos' prominent purple chin. As a matter of practicality, it didn't make much difference whether the blasts were coming from Rich's fist or the stump of his arm.

They were holding their own, but no one else seemed to have a strategy for how to end this fight. As fantastic as it would be to reduce Thanos to a pile of smoking cinders, it didn't look like that was on the menu tonight. They needed to get out of this in one piece. Whatever Rob and the other eggheads worked out, they'd need to Nova Force to do it; and if the Shi'ar lost Gladiator now, they'd descend into chaos. 

Rich wracked his brain, trying to think while playing laser-tag with the Universe's Most Wanted. He supposed they could always just ditch Thanos and Stargate out again. _Call that Plan B._ There would be nothing to stop Thanos from poking his nose into things again; and it would leave him running around at large, which was against Rich's religion. _Better get on Plan A, then._

"Hey, Gladiator, do you think you can get hold of big ugly again?" Rich asked.

_"What are you planning?"_

"Just be ready to get clear in a hurry when I give the word."

Thanos seemed to sense they were up to something, because he stepped up his game. A glancing blow sent Rich into a wild spin, which Chris had to swerve to avoid. Gladiator took one right to the face. Thanos grabbed him while he was still dazed in order to deliver an effective uppercut. 

_I've gotta do this now._ "Darkhawk, get him out of there!" Rich said, trying to compose himself, taking in the information the Worldmind gave him. 

Chris came streaking in from below. He missed his first grab dodging a point-blank shot from Thanos. Rich gritted his teeth and started attacking again, drawing Thanos' attention so that when Chris came around again, he could tackle the struggling Gladiator out of Thanos' hands.

Rich almost didn't switch gears fast enough. Two years ago, he didn't think he'd have been able to pull this off. But he'd had a lot of practice with containment fields since then. Rob had kept a Strontian pinned for hours with a corpsman's power allotment. Rich had held the fabric of reality together. Thanos was bad news, but Rich could handle him. Probably. For a while. 

With a scream of rage, Thanos threw himself against the gravimetric restraints. Yeah, okay, so this was not _exactly_ the same sort of containment Rich had been doing for the past however long. Thanos was a lot more...squirmy.

_"Whoa,"_ Chris said. _"Nice one, Rich. But what are you going to do with him now?"_

"I am going to stay right here and keep a lid on him while you fly back very, very quickly and have the corps bring the _Resolute Duty_ out here. At which point we put him in stasis in the brig." Rich paused. "Don't tell everyone who we've got out here yet."

Chris hesitated, throwing an uncertain glance at the thunderous expression on Thanos' face. Gladiator made as if to follow him, then stopped. He grimaced in frustration.

Rich resisted the urge to facepalm. "Your choice. Decide who you're more worried about," he told Gladiator bluntly.

Chris turned back to them, looking offended. "Oh, come on. We're not over this yet?"

"Darkhawk—" Rich said warningly.

"Be warned, Raptor," Gladiator said, "if you take this chance to flee, I will hunt you down."

"Yeah? How's that been working for you so far?" Chris shot back before accelerating into hyperspace.

 

_The_ Resolute Duty  
_Orbit_

Peter Quill shuttled over to the Nova Corps ship when it parked back in orbit. Rich's—Peter choked on the phrase _right-hand man_ , although the guy certainly had extras—Centurion Philo led him down to the brig, not to a ward room or the command deck.

"Should I be worried?" he asked Philo, only about fifty per cent seriously.

"The Nova Prime requested that I let him explain the situation himself, your Majesty."

Peter had mostly gotten control of the urge to make a face every time someone called him that. "Is the situation cake? Because after the week we've had, I could really use— You!"

Peter had his blaster drawn and aimed out of spinal reflex.

" _You_ ," Thanos said from inside one of the _Resolute Duty_ 's holding cells. 

Rich Rider was there too, Peter realised belatedly. His remaining arm was stretched out towards Thanos, projecting a scarcely-visible supplement to the ship's systems.

"Hey, mom, look what followed me home," Rich greeted him dryly.

"Okay, I thought we vetoed Thanos."

"Uh, yeah. I'm gonna need your help with something."

"Oh, why do I not like the sound of that?" Peter asked. 

"Because you know what I'll do to you when I'm free," Thanos spoke up.

"Thanos, babe, mom and dad are trying to have a conversation here."

Thanos made a sound like a rockslide boiling in a tea-kettle.

"Quill..." Rich said nervously.

"Okay, but really, what do you plan on doing with him?"

"Drax and Gamora can flip a coin to decide who gets to eviscerate him this time, I guess. Although Galactus might still be holding a grudge; we can ask."

"It's only polite," Peter agreed. The vision of Galactus obliterating Thanos was immensely attractive. 

Thanos looked between them alertly. "What is the Devourer of Worlds doing in this barren waste?"

_Oops._ "...Yeah, I don't really think that's information we should be giving you."

"I have seriously no desire to see this asshole keep breathing, but whatever happens needs to not happen here. I probably shouldn't even have brought him back," Rich admitted. "It might be better not to mention him until we're done sorting things out here."

Centurion Philo clearly had too much discipline to argue with his commander in front of a visiting dignitary (no, nope, Peter still couldn't even think that without snickering), but he got extra stiff and bland-looking. 

Peter could understand where Rich was coming from, but... "So, let me tell you about the last time I kept a secret from Gamora. I ended up tied to a chair in my underwear, and not in the fun way. And I'm engaged now; I think my fiancée might take it wrong."

"Ah. And that would have been..." Rich trailed off guiltily.

Peter winced. "Yeah."

"Sorry."

Peter shrugged. "Too many people already know he's here. Besides, we're going to need you to pull this thing off."

"What _are_ you all doing out here?" Thanos persisted. Horribly, it looked like they'd managed to stir his interest.


	25. Chapter 25

_The_ Resolute Duty  
_Orbit_

So, Rich had stumbled across Thanos lurking around out there. Which was—Vance didn't even know, but he was apparently invited to the meeting where the intergalactic leadership decided what to do about it. This may have started out as Vance's mission, but he had no illusions of being in charge of anything now but a team of marginally useful half-trained heroes. He'd have to be careful not to embarrass Rich, or let Robbie make a scene. Vance didn't entirely discount the possibility that Rich had invited him to keep Robbie from inadvertently setting off the next Kree-Shi'ar War. Robbie, now, was there as security. He was a power-sink: any blow that he saw coming, he could absorb. Apparently, Gladiator had taken that demonstration to heart. Vance wished he could have seen it.

Thanos, though. Thanos would have been a problem even without anything else going on. Forget the Raptors; Thanos was the real threat to any positive outcome they could achieve.

"Catastrophe," Robbie opined, lingering around the door to the observation deck on the _Resolute Duty_ where the council was going to convene and craning his neck to see inside. Thanos was already there. "Every time he shows up, catastrophe. Last time, he drops a city in the Hudson. Out here, Rich gets punted out of reality. And let's not forget the time he wiped out half of creation. We are so screwed."

"There's no reason to think like that yet," Vance told him. "If we were on our own, maybe; but look at who we've got in our corner. Rich, Quasar, the Sphinx—hell, _Galactus_. Even Thanos has to respect that kind of power." It scared Vance shitless, frankly. They were in so far over their heads. He felt almost as nervous as he had joining the Avengers.

"I'm just saying, what if he sees this as a prime opportunity to wipe out the whole thing?"

The _Resolute Duty_ had replaced their ship as the meeting place for this one, for the reason that it would be a supremely bad idea to let Thanos get within sprinting distance of the tear. Vance steered Robbie inside before they were late.

The observation deck was large but Spartan. The _Resolute Duty_ was a functional ship; it hadn't been built with diplomacy in mind. It was an open room with seating that usually faced the windows. A good third of the view was occupied by the grim and awesome visage of Galactus, watching from outside. 

The corps had rearranged what furniture wasn't permanently bolted down to clear a space on that side and provide seating for the high-powered attendees. Personally, Vance didn't think he could make himself sit. He was floating a, he trusted, discreet fraction of an inch above the deck, channelling nervous energy and staying mobile.

The last of the latecomers were trickling in now. Thanos had already been brought in, standing front and centre, under heavy guard. 'Heavy guard' in this case constituted Rich, Gamora, Gladiator, Ronan, and the Silver Surfer, who'd been pulled off the tear for the occasion. Quasar was down there now, with some of the future Guardians of the Galaxy to keep an eye on things. At present, the Sphinx was immobilising Thanos single-handed. They had adjusted their size to fit under the high ceilings, but they still dwarfed even Thanos, an indistinct figure emitting a blazing white radiance. 

Vance would have expected Drax the Destroyer to be there too, keeping an eye on his nemesis. But while Vance's alternate self's team didn't have the personal history with Thanos the rest of them did, the explanation for Drax's absence was more alarming. Apparently, his vendetta with Thanos was on the order of a compulsion. Vance wasn't sure how they'd managed to persuade him to stay away—he wasn't entirely certain Quill hadn't short-circuited the argument by cold-cocking him before blasting off—but it was holding off the sort of fight they'd all been tip-toeing around since they realised what the situation was out here. 

The Novas, Nita and Sam among them, were posted around the perimeter of the room, clearly on guard. Quill was lounging, sprawled out in an almost convincing posture of unconcern, except for the weapon in his hand and a slight furrow between his eyebrows. Beside him, Shadowcat was making no such show. She was glaring at Thanos with an expression that almost exactly mirrored Gamora's, like a lioness about to go for the throat. 

Geena Drake slipped in next to Vance and Robbie. She and Starhawk were the only future Guardians here; the rest were either looking after Quasar or _New Wundagore_ 's gladiatorial passengers. This was a small gathering, no excess bodies, just leaders and team leaders and useful people. 

Quill raked a glance over the assemblage, then climbed languidly to his feet, spinning the blaster around his finger. In contrast, Rich stood dark and grimly silent. Quill's eyes zeroed back in on Thanos. Thanos looked back, not visibly concerned by his restraints or formidable guard. 

"So," Quill said lightly. "Whatcha doin' here?"

Thanos regarded him with level hatred. "I was drawn here by something, something with the potential to destroy what cannot be destroyed and finally end this unbearable existence. I thought it was Rider, when he appeared, or even the brute Drax. But now I'm starting to wonder."

Quill rocked back on his heels. His face tightened. 

"There's something about this place. An aura of mortality that radiates from here out into the rest of the universe. Like old parchment. Fragile. Death is close here. I can smell her perfume." Thanos inhaled as though savouring the scent. 

All the hairs stood up on the back of Vance's neck. 

"Kill him." Gamora's voice was harsh. "If he yearns for death, then kill him now."

"Daughter—"

" _Don't_." She turned on Quill. "Why is this even a question? You don't need Drax and me for this. We'll take a ship and dispose of him elsewhere."

Quill met her gaze. "Because that worked so well when Rich and I tried it."

"We can kill him in this dimension."

"Are you one thousand per cent certain of that?" Quill challenged. "Because Drax stuck his arm _through his chest_ and ripped out his heart, if you recall."

"Ah, good times," Rich sighed, not quite quietly enough not to be heard. 

Thanos sneered. "Look at you, all cowering in fear. Pathetic. The potential of this place terrifies even the most powerful of you. You scramble desperately to halt the inevitable, to preserve yourselves and the universe that you've ruined."

"This individual is exceedingly unbalanced and aggressive," the Sphinx said observed in a tone of disapproval  
Quill snorted. 

"You don't know the half of it," Rich told them. "This is the problem. We can't let him go; he'd do his best to get us all killed. We can't afford to lose the juice it'd take to keep him buttoned up too. And I'm not sure we can kill him so he stays dead."

"Oh, you can't, Rider," Thanos said with malicious cheer. "It wasn't only the so-quaintly-named Cancerverse. If you truly want rid of me, you'll have to take stronger measures, and you seem pressed for time."

"Time is an illusion," the Sphinx corrected him. This was _so_ bizarre. "Life and death. You spend too much effort dwelling on these things."

Quill looked as though this sudden turn to the philosophical were giving him physical pain. Rich's poker face was slightly better. 

"What do you mean to do with him, then?" Ronan the Accuser asked, eyeing both Thanos and the Sphinx extremely dubiously.

"Well, we can't just plant him in the yard like a lawn jockey," said Quill.

"Spare me your infantile wit," Thanos responded contemptuously. "I already long for death; there's no need to torture me."

"His knowledge and abilities could be of assistance in our efforts," Starhawk said. Her hair was a warm, golden spill of curls; but her eyes were cool, almost seeming to look through Thanos, perceiving...what? that the rest of them couldn't. 

"You want us to use this guy?" Quill exclaimed. "No. Oh no. No no."

"Drax will _flip_ ," Shadowcat predicted. 

" _I'll_ flip," Quill said. "This is me, flipping. I thought one of you tanks would have an oubliette to stuff him in or something, not suggest he join the band." 

"He can't be trusted," Gamora said flatly. 

"I am One Who Knows," Starhawk made the inevitable assertion. Beside Vance, Robbie let out a low groan. Vance gave him a look of mild reproof.

"We have used him before," Ronan spoke up. He eyed Quill and especially Gamora with disfavour. 

"Which is why we know it's a bad idea," Quill maintained. 

"Except for the part where it sort of worked." 

Quill spun to gape at Rich, betrayed. 

"I don't like it either," Rich said. "But he's been cooperative before in the short term. He stepped up against the Cancerverse. And he was about to double-cross Annihilus when Drax took him out." 

For a second, Vance thought Gamora was going to attack him. Rich squared himself, not backing down. 

Vance hesitated over his first impulse to try and cool Rich down. Not his place. Also not easy to accomplish. 

He looked worriedly to Quill. Quill's balls-out approach to everything from diplomatic relations to unwinnable odds had earned him a degree of respect among the powers gathered here. His provocative attitude usually succeeded in distracting dangerous tension into irritation with him. 

At present, Quill's jaw was set. There was a vein throbbing in his forehead. Crap. 

"Your objections are emotional," Starhawk informed them. "If we don't make use of every resource we have, we will fail." 

Gamora transferred her snarl to this new target. 

"You'll almost certainly fail in any event," Thanos sneered with a certain degree of satisfaction. 

The Silver Surfer tilted his head as though listening to something, the Sphinx's glow reflecting off of his flawless, mirror-like skin. When he spoke, his voice was slow and carried a resonant weight.

"Thanos. You yearn for obliteration? It will be denied you. If you do not aid our efforts here, the only things that will survive the devastation will be my master and yourself. Do you remember, Thanos, Annihilus' invasion? Galactus does. He remembers the part you played in his ill-use. Eternity is undoubtedly a torment. If you do not join our cause, he will hound you through the next creation and into the one after. So speaks the Devourer of Worlds." 

Thanos' eyes flared. The Surfer met them coolly, seeming untouched and untouchable. "Bold words. Even Galactus may find it unwise to make me his enemy."

"Galactus is the only one here with no reason to be afraid." 

Outside the windows, the giant's massive, unblinking eyes seemed to focus on Thanos. He looked...small, in comparison. Vance swore he couldn't even hear anyone breathing. 

"I mean, you do kind of owe him one," Quill broke the charged silence. There was an expression of mingled resignation and disgust on his face. "Also, I am holding _you_ ," he jabbed his finger at the Devourer of Worlds, "responsible for his good behaviour. And Gamora and I reserve the right to say _I told you so_." 

"Don't include me in your japery, Quill," Gamora warned him, looking only barely mollified. 

 

_The_ New Wundagore III  
_Surface_

The air in the ship was fuzzy with noise. Of course the people were very noisy, especially when all the space people were aboard. But most of the noise was seeping out of the cracks. Aracely couldn't see them, but she could hear them, like walking past a door in the hotel that was slightly ajar. 

As she moved through the corridors, sounds surged and subsided randomly. Mostly, it was too faint and garbled to pick out much of anything. Sometimes, it wasn't sound at all, but silence, ringing silence that pressed on her skull as she hurried past. 

Aracely knew that none of it, neither sound nor silence, was anything anyone else could hear. The constant, growling undercurrent in the back of her mind that was her awareness of Kaine was annoyingly reassuring. _Pendejo._

Aracely was still avoiding him. Kaine, with a typical mix of resignation and irritation, was mostly cooperating. _He's so hopeless._ Vance had his work cut out for him there. 

Sighing, Aracely fell back onto the sectional in the rec room and stared up at the ceiling. Sometimes she really _did_ wish she had more control of her powers. You'd think being able to read people's minds would mean she had a better idea of what was going on than other people, but no. Things leapt into her mind of their own volition like creeps jumping out of the bushes. 

Up here, where the team lived, they were more familiar minds on the periphery of her senses, pinning her blurry edges down a little more. One sidled closer. Aracely heaved a sigh and kept her eyes on the ceiling, not moving.

The doors whooshed open, whooshed closed. _Whoooooooosh._ Aracely did like the whooshing doors. It was the small things in life. 

Silence. Aracely let it become awkward. She focussed very hard on the ceiling, trying not to let her gaze stray to the blank, black windows. Trying not to let her mind stray. Kaine's thoughts were buzzing with his agitation. 

"I'm sorry, all right? Is that what you want to hear?" Kaine burst out at last. "Obviously ripping more holes in the fabric of reality or whatever wasn't the right move. I shouldn't have said that."

Aracely's jaw set. Kaine stared down at her helplessly. 

"...I didn't mean to scare you?"

Valiantly, Aracely fought down the urge to smack her forehead. Or possibly kick Kaine in the face. She listened helplessly to his brain ticking over the chances that, now he'd started, he could escape this conversation without examining his feelings. (Feelings! How dreadful!)

"You were right," Kaine grated out at last. "I was upset. Are you satisfied yet?"

"We know you care about him, you know," Aracely muttered thickly, past the lump in her throat. "You're allowed to be sad instead of angry."

Kaine huffed out a breath, unwilling to touch that tangled, dark place inside himself with words. Aracely supposed that Kaine had never learned how to be sad. His pain had always flared straight into rage as the only way to keep it from swallowing him down whole. 

"I'm sorry for being a jerk." Kaine's tone acknowledged that this was a continuing issue of his. Aracely had to admit, it was very unlikely that he'd ever stop being a jerk. 

"I wish you'd let us help more." Aracely craned her neck around to look at Kaine. He had his mask off, twisting it in his hands. Tense was pretty normal for Kaine, but this place was making him extra tense. He had his own spooky possessing spirit, whose unease had been contributing to his agitation. 

"Kid, I don't think—" Kaine's jaw clamped shut. _I don't think there's anything anyone can do to help._ Kaine didn't know what to do without an enemy he could fight. Vance being out of reach up on the Novas' ship was making him antsy. Getting him back had made Kaine happier, but not more optimistic. 

It wasn't just him; everyone was walking around like thunder clouds given legs and bright clothing. Since Thanos showed up, it was like all the lights had gone out. The mood was as black as the empty sky.

The cracks hissed their interference, creeping wider as Aracely tried not to listen.

 

The group that assembled in the _Wundagore_ 's presentation lab wasn't a combination Rich ever would have expected, even after the momentous alliances at the Fault. There were the approximately five million Guardians, of course, although Drax was still conspicuously absent. What _had_ Quill done with Drax?

The New Warriors, of course, and the Nova Corps. The Kree and the Shi'ar. Somehow, possibly because Gladiator had been so focussed on Chris before, he and Ronan had actually been the most well-behaved of that group. They'd had to send the actual Kree and Shi'ar diplomats back to their respective corners before they reignited hostilities.

Almost as disturbing was the weirdest version of the Sphinx Rich had ever encountered. A constant, ostentatious glow blurred their features, making them alien and unfamiliar. 

Then there was the Silver Surfer, standing in for Galactus. It was _really_ hard to think of Galactus as anything but bad news. _At least he's come down as bad news for Thanos this time,_ Rich tried to reassure himself. 

And fucking Thanos. The last purple-faced son of a schlaag Rich had ever wanted to see again. An immortal Thanos was a problem that, Rich was sure, would continue to haunt them for a long time if they made it through this apocalypse. The urge to consult with Chris on the possibility of kicking his psycho butt through one of the expanding fractures in reality was pretty strong, though. After some consultation, they had Robbie glued to him as nearly-indestructible security, with the potential at least to take whatever Thanos threw at him without a lot of dangerous energy expenditure.

Rich cleared his throat, because it didn't look like anyone else was going to start things. "As some of you already know, we've come to a decision about what to do with Thanos. He's agreed to help us fix things, under pain of Galactus' displeasure."

Quill snorted, his arms crossed.

"Was there something you wanted to add, Emperor Quill?" Rich asked. 

Quill's eyes were locked on Thanos' face. Thanos stared back, eyes glinting with animosity. 

"Yeah. What happens when he double-crosses us?"

"Have I not been sufficiently bullied for you?" Thanos sneered resentfully.

"No, actually." 

"Then what do you suggest?"

Quill ground his teeth, the muscles in his jaw bunching.

"Because the way I understand it, you don't have any choice in the matter," Thanos went on. "You're not in charge here, Quill. Bravado won't put your broken universe back together."

"You watch your tone," snarled Gamora.

"I'm disappointed in you, daughter. Sniffing around after this half-breed cretin like a lovesick—"

"That's enough," Rich cut across him. Worldmind helpfully picked out at least four people with hands on weapons for him. "To be clear, Galactus isn't the only one you have to worry about pissing off."

"You're the one with the problem, Rider."

"And if you haven't noticed, you're outclassed," Robbie told him. "There's enough juice here to squash you like a bug, even if it doesn't kill you. Speaking of bravado."

Thanos glanced aside at Robbie, visibly deciding that he wasn't worth acknowledging. He did also shut up though. _Looks like Robbie's been picking up tricks from Vance._

Encouraged by Robbie's breaking into this high-level argument, Chris spoke up. He had strategically placed himself with Rich, Ronan, and the New Warriors between himself and Gladiator, as well as an unobstructed path to the door. Obviously, he was still feeling a little twitchy.

"I found out some things while I was at the Tree of Shadows, too," Chris said with a nervous glance towards Gladiator. 

_Oh, shit._ Rich had completely forgotten about Chris and the Raptors and the potential lost Novas. 

"What did you learn? How much of our plans have been compromised?" Damn it, he should have been asking those questions yesterday, Thanos or no Thanos.

"Basically all of them. When Talon was masquerading as Minister Araki, he had access to everything we've got on the mess out there. The Raptors know the universe is about one crack away from turning into an omelette. And worse, they know what we're planning on doing about it."

"So what are _they_ planning on doing about it?" Quill asked, the sour look on his face probably matching the one on Rich's own.

"What do you think? If someone's remaking reality, they want to design the blueprint," Chris told him. "Mentor said they've been lurking outside of our sensor range in stealth mode, watching and trying to sift as much intel as they can from the Datasong. They can't get much, but they'll know when we start up."

"Great." Rich rubbed his face. 

"This brings up a significant point," the Sphinx said. "What exactly do you desire us to conjure?"

"...The universe?" said Quill, nonplussed.

"That's not what they meant," Ronan said. 

"No."

The light dawned. "You want to change things."

"Don't _you_ want to change things?" Thanos asked provocatively.

Silence.

"Hala," Ronan said, his voice a barely-contained rumble.

"And Xandar," Jesse Alexander said softly, in a tone of sudden and unexpected pain. He gripped his son's shoulder tightly. 

Vance's expression was completely blank. Shadowcat—and wow, Quill's luck had changed since Rich had been gone, because he'd been elected emperor of a multi-planetary empire and _gotten engaged to an X-Man_ —was chewing on her lip. Gladiator didn't give anything away, but Rich would bet anything he was thinking of Lilandra Neramani. Robbie's face looked—haunted. Angela looked stricken. Gamora...looked at Thanos. 

Rich's eyebrows went up. Quill noticed the direction of her gaze and started looking speculative. Thanos narrowed his eyes. 

_Well, if there's anyone we could persuade to help will himself out of existence..._ Wasn't _that_ a tempting thought. 

Ronan and Gladiator were now eyeing each other. It occurred to Rich that Gladiator might not be too hot to see the Kree empire miraculously put itself back together. Or Ronan to see Lilandra Neramani back at the wheel of the Shi'ar, although given a choice between her and Gladiator, Rich knew who he would choose. And—

_Blue blazes._ The Nova Corps. Rich wouldn't have to carry it all alone anymore. He could go back to Earth, to fighting crime and not wars. Fix himself so he wasn't shackled to the Nova Force. Let someone else make the impossible calls. He was so, so tired of it, of watching whole planets die, of struggling to keep civilisation after civilisation from falling apart.

"That would not be wise," Starhawk said. "Any change we made would have untold consequences."

"Untold lives saved," Quill murmured in a sing-song voice. 

"Could we do it? Is it feasible?" Vance asked, looking from Robbie to Nita to Rich. "How is this going to work, anyway?"

Rob caught Philo's eye; Philo nodded. _Wow. Discipline._ Rich was still getting used to that, especially from Rob.

"Basically, we need three elements," Rob said. "Power, direction, and creation. The Worldmind can manage some of the calculations we'll need for constant power flow, that sort of thing, but most of the direction is going to have to come from the Datasong. So we can template the new reality off of the old one. Theoretically, it should be possible to alter the template. I'm not sure how difficult it would be, though. Starhawk?"

Somewhat truculently, Starhawk said, "It could be done, but I don't believe you would be as pleased with the results as you anticipate. The changes easiest to achieve would be small and simple, and even they can have large effects. Take your finger, for instance, Centurion Rider. Would you like it back?"

Rob started and closed his fist self-consciously. "Uh, sure, I guess."

"Reality could be rewritten so that you never lost it. But the event was tied to your brother's vocation. It served as a reminder and motivation to you and influenced your relationship. Perhaps neither of you would be here now if the Nova Prime had not learned the realities of risk before the Annihilation War, or if you had never learned your own inner strength."

"It's not a big deal; I could have a new one grown and grafted on if I wanted," Rob said uncomfortably.

Starhawk turned to Quill and Shadowcat. "Katherine Pryde. Would you still have left Earth if most of its human mutants had not been annulled?" Her glowing eyes fixed on Vance. "What would you change? Would you edit yourself out of existence completely? The new reality must be logically coherent, or it will be no more stable than what we have now."

Vance had a troubled, inward expression on his face. "Every day we go out there, we decide that our lives aren't as important as the lives we can save."

"But you do not fully appreciate the magnitude and complexity of this undertaking. I must track every subatomic particle and waveform in the present and back through trillions of years of time to the moment of creation."

"But we can't use _you_ Starhawk," Geena Drake, the girl who'd recruited Galactus, objected. She was one of future-Vance's future-Guardians. "What if she fluxes in the middle of it? Not all of the versions I've seen have the abilities we need. And some of them are kind of creepy," she added.

"But we need Chris to save the Novas," Rob objected.

"And my guardsmen," Gladiator reminded them.

"Of course; sorry."

Starhawk frowned. "It can be no other. Darkhawk has unique capabilities, but this is beyond him. _I_ am the One Who Knows."

"The instability is fixed easily enough," the Sphinx said, pressing a hand to Starhawk's forehead.

Starhawk gasped, then flinched back, tottering slightly on her high-heeled gold boots. A brief flurry of power readings danced across Rich's HUD, along with a couple warning lights.

"Blue blazes, you can't just _do_ things like that," Rich tried not to shriek. 

"It was necessary."

Rich fought the urge to tear off his helmet and then his hair. "Maybe, but you _really_ need to consult the rest of the group before you risk rupturing the space-time continuum. I think we need to revisit the definition of the word 'teamwork'."

"We acted for the good of the group."

_Breathe, Rider,_ the Worldmind told him. _They didn't do any harm. This time._

"What did you do, exactly?" Geena Drake asked. 

"We stabilised their timeline. Temporarily," the Sphinx replied. "The crystal-bearers are easier to affect."

"Okay. Great. One problem solved. Now, how do we decide what to change?"

"We must save Hala," Ronan insisted.

"And Xandar," Jesse Alexander put in.

"Might as well just roll back the entire Annihilation Wave," Quill said thoughtfully. "Except I might still be imprisoned in the Kyln. Erk."

"Surely dead in the Kyln by now." Thanos gave a disconcerting little dreamy sigh at the thought.

_"But we could save Hala, Kree-lar,_ and _Xandar,"_ the Worldmind said from her holographic vantage hovering over the work table.

"I thought the Nova Corps were supposed to be impartial." Gladiator frowned. "First harbouring the traitor, and now open partisanship."

_"I'd suggest saving Shi'ar planets, but none have actually been blown up,"_ the Worldmind replied tartly. 

"We should negate Vulcan. Or Black Bolt. It was the recklessness of the Inhumans that caused the Fault and released the treacherous Raptors."

Ronan's eyes flashed. "Yes, by all means, eliminate Vulcan. The Aerie might still be a Kree annex."

"And your wife might not have left you?"

"And you'd have us believe that your eagerness to restore Neramani has nothing to do with you pining for your own lover." 

"You _will_ speak of the majestrix with respect, Kree."

When Gladiator's eyes started flashing, it was a much bigger problem. Quill caught it, too. He waved his hand—because, Peter Quill—between their faces, both of which were well above his eye-level. It did succeed in getting their attention.

"Can we please have the measuring contest another time?"

Ronan turned to look at him. "It occurs to me that if Emperor J'Son were erased, Hala would also be saved, and Quill would not exist to betray us to Ultron."

"Hey, that was an honest mistake," Quill protested.

"Why not just erase Earth while you're at it?" Rocket the Racoon asked from his perch lounging among Groot's branches.

Quill gave voice to a betrayed squeak. "Rocket!"

"You bozos are more trouble than you're worth, is all I'm saying."

"Remind me, who found this out here before we all woke up dead one morning?" Quill asked.

"Remind me, who's fault is it that reality's flarked in the first place? _Earth_ heroes, _Earth_ mutants, _Earth_ flarking Inhumans. Four hundred flavours of flarknards."

"I'm pretty sure the Kree are responsible for the Inhumans," Vance pointed out. "Other civilisations started messing with us first."

"Eliminate the Kree? Now _there's_ a solid plan."

"That's not what I—"

"I will _not_ tolerate further genocide against my people," Ronan shouted.

"But _I'm_ supposed to sit still for it?" Quill objected. 

"Yeah, everybody calm down a little," Rich tried. No one seemed to hear him. Arguments were breaking out all over the room, voices raised, fingers jabbing accusingly. 

"—can't just—"

"—hell of a double standard—"

"—doesn't mean we couldn't—"

"—gives you the right—"

Philo touched Rich's arm, and Rich swallowed his next, definitely not shouted, words. "Nova Prime, with your permission?"

Rich took a deep breath. It was a moment before he realised what Philo was getting at. 

He let his breath out through clenched teeth. "Sure. Let's take a break. Lunch time," Rich repeated loudly, cutting across the hubbub. "Why don't we all go back to our ships and eat something? Rob, Starhawk, get to work. I want to see some projections, ASAP."

Around the room, the Novas were stepping in to separate people and keep them from bumping into each other on their way out. Rich stepped back to get a grip on himself. He was halfway to crossing his arms before he remembered he couldn't. 

For a moment, the urge to punch something was almost overpowering. They were so close, and it was all falling apart. Rich turned on his heel and shouldered his way out through the crowd, who all fell back from him.


	26. Chapter 26

As everyone split off in separate directions, Robbie found himself alone, his thoughts turned inward. He saw Nita when he turned a corner, stopped outside an airlock. 

"Dammit, Rich!" She slapped the wall.

"Bucket-head's not in a listening mood, huh?"

Nita jumped. Her head snapped around, then her shoulders sagged as she recognised him. "Oh, hey, Toothpick. You know, sometimes I don't think Rich has really changed much after all." 

"It must be pretty weird for you," Robbie said. "Um, look. Vance said he talked to you about..."

Nita's face softened instantly. "Neptune, Robbie, I'm so sorry. I can't believe I did that to you."

"No—Nita, no, of course I don't blame you. Jesus, you had no idea Nitro would—no." Robbie swallowed. "I'm just glad you're okay. And I'm so glad you didn't have to go through what I went through."

"Hey. I'm pretty tough, you know," Nita smiled crookedly at him. 

Vance had said he hadn't—hadn't gone into the ugly details of Robbie's escalating mental breakdowns and unhealthy coping strategies. But, given the way Nita was looking at him, he'd told her _something_. Her expression was so openly concerned that she hardly looked like Nita.

"You don't understand. You don't know what it was like." Robbie heard an edge of hysteria creeping into his voice and swallowed to get back some control. "It wasn't just the Civil War. In the middle of all that, of Iron Man and Captain America fighting in the streets, _I_ was the most hated person in the country. Because I survived. It was a year before I dared to show my face again."

Nita reached out and caught his hands. Robbie squeezed back convulsively. "I don't know what to say." 

"Say you won't go back," Robbie begged her. "Stay out here. Stay with Rich and the Novas; you guys are really doing good out here. If you go back to Earth, they'll hate you too. They'll try and blame you for it; they won't understand that you weren't there."

"I can hack it. I'm tougher than I look, remember?" Nita told him.

"Nita—"

"It's really sweet that you're worried, toothpick, but I don't back down from a fight," Nita insisted. "Atlantis—Earth is my home; I'm not going to let some media bozos scare me away."

Robbie looked into her eyes and saw a hard wall of stubbornness. She didn't understand, and she wouldn't until it came crashing down on her. He couldn't protect her, all over again.

 

_Space_

Space was silent and icy-cold, although the chill didn't strike at Gamora the way it ought to. She hadn't needed to follow Richard Rider out of the conference space to know where to find him.

During the Annihilation War, Rich had used to take himself apart when his emotions boiled over and there was no convenient battle in which to vent them. It wasn't so much that he wanted to be alone as that he didn't want to show weakness in front of those he led, and self-restraint didn't come easily to him. 

It was almost second nature to follow him, even after so long. These habits of caring were hard to break, now that Gamora had let them creep in. 

Solitude was much easier to come by in this desolation than in some places they'd found themselves. Gamora angled her approach to avoid coming at Richard from behind, although the Worldmind ran constant scans for him in all directions. 

"Uh. Gamora. Hey." Rich held up one finger paused in the way that meant the Worldmind was speaking to him. "Would you just—yeah. Take a hike, would you?"

"Your AI seems out of sorts."

Richard grimaced. "Well. You did kind of kill her. The Kree centurion, from when the Phalanx..."

"Oh." _That_ centurion. 

"The Worldmind's control personality reset afterwards," Richard explained. "I try to explain about the mind control, but she's got a lot more personality than you'd expect from a computer. She, er, might have picked up something about you attacking Hala, too."

"Hala was a tragedy. Peter Quill was incensed by his father's act." Gamora was not unfamiliar with the feeling.

"Quill is such a—ugh, never mind. I came out here to—"

"Sulk?" Gamora suggested.

Richard shot her a reproachful look. "You used to call it brooding."

"I did not used to be so well-acquainted with humans," Gamora pointed out.

Richard smiled. It still lightened his face to a quite remarkable attractiveness. "You know, I've missed you, Gamora."

"I—it is very good that you are back." Gamora was abruptly reminded of how the rest of their ritual usually went. Sometimes they snarled and shouted first, but sometimes they fell directly into a desperate embrace. Richard was strong and good and such a warrior. He'd always respected her without being a doormat. 

Now, she wondered how much of that Namorita had trained into him. It wasn't jealousy. Really. But Gamora did perceive that they were both being pulled in two directions. The choice could not be delayed indefinitely.

"I'm sorry; I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable." 

"What did you mean?"

Richard looked at her, the helmet not masking anything at all. Gamora curled her fingers into her palms to keep herself from reaching out. 

"You do not love me anymore."

"Of course I love you. But we were never going to make each other happy. You deserve to be happy, Gamora."

Gamora turned her head, her hood screening her face as she squeezed her eyes shut. She had seen how Richard and Namorita quarrelled, and Angela had Sera...

Sera was almost as delightful as Angela, though. Gamora had been half anticipating a possessive scene when Angela introduced them; but Sera had merely looked from one of them to the other and said, "Please tell me you two are already screwing so I don't have to beat you senseless."

So maybe being with Angela felt right. But it was in a way that made Gamora peculiarly self-conscious. Angela was not good the way Richard Rider was good, or even the way Peter Quill was good (and Quill's morality was dubious at best). Richard might have been right that Gamora would never have been happy trying to conform to his moral standards, nor he tolerating her deviations. But the contrast made her uncomfortably aware of her shortfall. She was not the living weapon Thanos had tried to create, but neither was she the person she had sought to become. 

"Gamora..."

"No." She looked at him again, then looked away from the pain in his face. "You've said what you needed to say. Be well, Richard-human." 

 

_The_ New Wundagore III  
_Surface_

Kaine watched Vance. He was more disturbed than Kaine had ever seen him, silent and twitchy. He'd gone running all up and down the spaceship and come back with his legs shaking. Kaine hadn't followed him into the shower this time, but Vance hadn't seemed surprised to find him still perched on the wall across from his door when he came back out again. 

"Are you done freaking out?" Kaine asked him.

Vance ran a hand through his still-damp hair. "No," he decided. "But I need to eat something. Maybe raising my blood sugar will help."

In the kitchen, Vance ate mechanically. This was weird. He wasn't talking, he wasn't playing nanny to all the super-kids, he wasn't even interested in the weird alien food. 

Kaine ate too, because he had to sometime and the weird alien food wasn't actually that bad. He'd eaten plenty of weird human food in his time. 

He wasn't sure what to do here. Was this a hugging situation? Sex didn't quite seem the right response to this glazed numbness, but Kaine's experience with hugs was extremely limited. It consisted of Aracely flinging herself at him in an access of emotion, basically. 

Kaine was experiencing a growing urge to shake him, kiss him, or stand him on his head just to get a reaction out of him when Vance dropped his spoon with a clatter. Turning to see what he was staring at, Kaine saw two unfamiliar aliens, male and female. The female looked human enough to almost pass, except for the red-glowing eyes. The male glowed red all over, like a more sinister and reasonably-sized Sphinx.

" _You._ " 

Vance reacted immediately, rocketing out of his seat and into clear air. Kaine took that as his cue and leapt to stick on the cabinets on the other side of the room. He kept one eye on Vance, watching for a sign that he should attack.

"This is Justice of the New Warriors. I need the Sphinx in the Level Eight kitchen _right now_. Korvac is here, I repeat, Michael Korvac."

Fire roared through Kaine's head. All his attention was fixated on the glowing figure. _Korvac._ Vance's tormentor. _Going to kill you, you sonuvabitch._

"Calm down, kid," Korvac said lightly. "The little lady and I are accepting your invitation. We're here to help."

Korvac turned his head when the Sphinx popped into the room with as little warning as Korvac had given. They sized each other up while Korvac's companion watched them nervously.

"Carina...?" Vance asked, his voice tight. 

"The integrity of his prison was becoming increasingly compromised," the woman, apparently Carina, answered. "I agreed to let him go if he would lend himself to your purpose."

"It does seem to need some work," Korvac agreed, examining the room. Examining _reality_ , Kaine changed his thought. 

The others were starting to arrive now, piling up in the doorway. Alarmed voices were chattering in the radio in Kaine's ear, where someone in the crowd across the room was muttering updates. 

"This will help," Starhawk said. 

The Sphinx inclined their head judiciously. "Potentially." 

"Korvac?" The little Drake girl squeezed through the larger heroes packing the doorway.

"...I know you," Korvac said, puzzled. 

"I was with you when you died. Disappeared? You were going to help, do you remember?"

Korvac studied her freckled face. "It seems part of me does. Aren't you strange, now? I can see how you'd be useful."

"Yes; she will be one of the anchors," the Sphinx said cryptically. "You should both come with us. Time is short; we must resume work."

Almost as quickly as they had appeared, Korvac and Carina were whisked away. More gradually, the crowd dispersed. Vance spared their team a reassuring nod, but he stayed in the air after everyone was gone. Kaine dropped to the deck cautiously, scrutinising him for further signs of flying off the handle. 

"Do I have to pick you up and carry you to your room again?" Kaine asked. 

Vance rolled his eyes. "I'm fine."

"Really?" 

He exhaled a deep breath. "Yes. My personal feelings don't count on this one. Korvac needs to be watched, but he can help. That's what matters."

"Like hell," Kaine objected. 

"Kaine—"

"No, dammit. We've got enough crackpot villains running around. Let his girlfriend stuff him down the nearest hole again." 

"I can handle Korvac, Kaine. He's done his worst to me, and I survived it. _You_ helped me survive it."

Kaine hunched in on himself. "Selah was the one who found you. I didn't do anything."

Vance shook his head in frustration. "Korvac had me dead to rights. He made himself look like my father. Facing him again, being in that place again—when it came down to a-a confrontation, even knowing it was all a sham, I couldn't—couldn't get past it. And then I thought, you'd fight it, no matter what. If someone were jerking you around like that. You'd want me to fight. And I would rather be here with you than stuck in that nightmare." 

Kaine didn't know what to say. Vance took his hand and laced their gloved fingers together, feet finally touching the floor. 

"I'm here because of you. So thank you, for being a violent, contrary, stubborn son of a bitch."

"Not that I get a lot of them, but that's the weirdest compliment anyone's ever given me," Kaine told him. 

"What can I say? I love you for you."

By god, he actually did. It was a bizarre thought to have, that Vance might love him with all of his flaws, not in spite of them. Kaine squeezed his hand.

"As long as you're in an explaining mood, do you want to explain what Starhawk said about fixing things meaning erasing you from existence?"

Vance sighed tiredly and leaned back against the kitchen counter, his hand slipping from Kaine's. "The changes we'd have to make to save my father, to break the cycle, would probably result in my not being born."

"You're actually considering doing it." Kaine was stunned. 

Vance met his eyes—despite the mask, he always did that spookily well—and replied, "What would you change? Where will you be, after we do this?"

Kaine's stomach crawled. _Louise. Ben. The Jackal._

"I wouldn't hesitate to sacrifice my life to save a civilian, if it came to that. How much less my own father?" Vance didn't look righteous, though; he looked miserable. 

"That's crap," Kaine objected. "He beat you, he drove you from your home, he got you so fucked in the head you lost it and put him through a wall. And now you're going to kill yourself to make his life better."

"It isn't like that," Vance said defensively. 

"Oh yeah? You want to compare family histories? The first thing my 'father' tried to do was kill me. He manipulated me, mutilated me, and took away my free will. He tortured Peter and Ben. The world would probably be a better place if he'd never been born. But if he hadn't, I'd be gone, too. Is that what you want?" 

"Of course it isn't. You're not responsible for what the Jackal did. God, Kaine, you can't actually believe I think that. But if we've got the power—" 

"I swear, if you say the word responsibility, I'm going to web your mouth shut." 

A gleam of humour crossed Vance's face briefly and was gone. "That doesn't invalidate the point." 

"I'm going to punch Peter in the face the next time I see him if we all get out of this alive." 

"Kaine." 

"You know, the world would probably be a better place without me in it, too. But I'm not giving up. And I'm not letting you give up either."


	27. Chapter 27

_The_ New Wundagore III  
_Surface_

Vance did a lot of thinking after Kaine left. Belatedly, he went around to check on everyone. He wasn't certain how much good he was doing, but this was at least a sure right action. 

They were all over the place. Some of the newer kids—Selah, Sam, even Mark—didn't really have anything in their pasts that seriously weighed on them. Mark might unwish his terrigenisis so he could go back to his family, but even that didn't carry the sort of mortal consequences the rest of them were grappling with. Robbie wasn't in a very good place over this, and trailing around after Thanos couldn't be helping... 

Neither was Vance, and neither were he and Kaine. Vance considered that, if his existence was about to be wiped clean, the status of his relationship with Kaine was pretty immaterial. 

Vance didn't get much sleep that night. Rich called them all up to the _Resolute Duty_ , either to put everyone on his territory or to get some distance between any brawls that might break out and the tear itself. Looking around, Vance saw that Rich had also replaced the Silver Surfer with Quasar. That was another reason for meeting up here; Galactus was staring in through the windows again, like a kid with an aquarium, or maybe an ant farm.

The Novas, Nita with them, were acting as security again, and the big guns were all keeping a wary eye on the less trustworthy members of the group, and in most cases each other. Vance himself was keeping close tabs on where Korvac was and what he was doing. Carina spared him a cool, unreadable look from where she stood radiating palpable misgivings. How voluntary _was_ her presence here? How much could they trust Korvac?

Despite the tensions that had sprung up, the different groups were still intermingling. Aracely was towards the back, perched again in Groot's branches along with Rocket Racoon. She had been pointedly not looking at Kaine, while Kaine had spent the last few days pretending it didn't bother him; but they finally seemed to have patched things up. Worrisomely, she was leaning forward alertly, staring straight into Galactus' enormous, lambent eyes. 

Sil, who had a hard-won sense of when not to get in the middle of things, was giving both Gamora and Angela a wide berth and leaning against Jack Flag's chair instead. The Guardians of the Galaxy were thoroughly blended together, missing only Venom and President Quill's future counterpart, who were down on the surface making sure nothing snuck up on the Silver Surfer. Some of them were actually sitting down. Just another Tuesday. What day of the week was it? What with one thing and another, Vance had lost track. Time in Carina's dimension seemed to have run differently.

Kaine was crouched midway up a deep window frame, silent, watchful, and very tense. Vance was having some trouble keeping it on the ground himself, floating halfway between where Kaine was and everyone else's head level. 

Geena Drake slipped in next to Selah and Aracely. Mark and Selah greeted her quietly, mindful of the company they found themselves in. On Vance's other side, Faira settled into a guard's posture she could hold indefinitely. 

"Right." Peter Quill clapped his hands once. "Let's try this again, maybe with a little more decorum. Don't make me invoke Parliamentary Procedures; tenth grade is best forgotten. Who's up first?" 

"Rob." Rich gestured his brother forward. 

"Okay. We've run through a range of different changes—"

Rob went down through a dozen possible alterations they could make and how difficult they would be. Most of the technical jargon went right over Vance's head. But he couldn't help noticing the calculating interest on certain faces. He was getting a bad feeling about this. _A worse feeling,_ he corrected himself. He already had a bad feeling; his intestines were tied up in knots.

Quill was frowning thoughtfully. "Is there any way to know what it'll look like if we do all this? Like a projection or something?"

Rob darted a glance at Starhawk. The helmet concealed a lot, but Vance could see that he was nervous.

"Well, not with any degree of certainty. Modelling how the alterations will interact when they involve an infinite multiverse—it's just too much. According to Starhawk, the Datasong does complex forward-modelling, but she claims it's not set up to handle hypothetical changes to the past. Not designed that way. We'll only be able to really see the effects as we go. Of course, it'll still be possible to steer things on the fly, to a certain extent. But we can't tell you what exactly we'll end up with."

Gladiator frowned suspiciously at Starhawk; he wasn't the only one. As usual, her poker face remained unruffled. Vance wasn't sure he'd put it past Starhawk to dig her shiny gold heels in because she disapproved of their plans.

"But it would probably be better than the fall of three major intergalactic powers and dozens of civilisations in five years, right?" Quill suggested hopefully.

"The Kree have not fallen," Ronan objected. 

"No, no, you're right; my bad," Quill apologised. 

"What he meant to say was that the Kree haven't come through unscathed either," Rich said. "No one has."

Ronan's gaze fell on Gladiator. "Almost no one."

"You dare call this unscathed?" Gladiator fumed. 

"The Shi'ar are now the greatest intact power in the local group. Do you expect anyone to believe that is an accident? It wouldn't surprise me to learn you've been conspiring with the Raptors all along to put yourself in just this position of power."

Gladiator...well, he couldn't turn more purple, but his face grew duskily suffused. Peter Quill took a prudent step out from between them, leaving Rich and Quasar standing shoulder to shoulder, a quarter-turn away from being back-to-back.

"This feels familiar," Quasar muttered. 

Rich's lips twitched. "Good times."

"Out of my way, Rider," Gladiator growled. "I won't stand by any longer and allow you to favour Kree interests."

"We hardly need to be protected from the Shi'ar," Ronan said. "Or gave you forgotten how the last war ended?"

Gladiator's eyes began to glow. All if a sudden, there was a violent lurch, as though someone had taken the room and stretched it. For a moment, Vance actually wondered if Galactus had gotten fed up with their squabbling and grabbed the Resolute Duty, perhaps in preparation for lobbing it in the direction of the nearest black hole. But no, he realised, it had been another gap in reality, passing through them or maybe cracking open a little further nearby. 

"Enough!" Rich said in a tone of command Vance hadn't heard from him before. "Ronan, if you remember the last war, you'd realise no secret Shi'ar conspiracy would ever involve letting themselves be conquered by the Kree." He turned to Gladiator. "I recognise that there's no way in hell to get you to kiss and make up with the Kree. Fine. You're not cooperating with them; you're cooperating with the Nova Corps. Just ignore each other for a couple more days, and then you can go back to your separate galaxies and pretend none of this ever happened."

The pair of emperors regarded at Rich, then each other. Neither one of them said anything, probably because neither one of them wanted to speak first.

"Great," Rich said. "Rob?"

"Uh," Rob picked up after a pause to get himself back on track. "We could stop those events from happening, yes. But I have to warn you that it's not impossible for the changes we make to produce collateral catastrophes," 

"No history is bloodless," the Sphinx proclaimed with seeming equanimity. 

"Unfortunately," Rob had to agree. "I mean, it's not like we can make everyone in the universe a nice guy."

Realisation rippled around the room, of what exactly they _could_ accomplish with the power in this room. Vance's brain, which had been stuck for so long on the dilemma of _could_ versus _should_ , suddenly raced through the implications, like a marble dropped into a marble works. 

"And that's why we can't do it." 

Vance didn't realise he was going to say it until he opened his mouth. Everyone turned to look at him. 

"Please explain," Ronan said, his tone still dangerous. 

Vance steeled himself in the face of that formidable presence. This was not the time to waffle over first impressions or think about Captain America pyjama pants. "This is an opportunity that may never come again. It could save more lives than I can count. If we could be sure it would work."

"So what is your objection?"

"Who's going to be making the actual changes?" Vance asked, putting his finger at last on what had been niggling at him all along. "Galactus. The Sphinx. Carina. _Korvac._ "

"Now, now, there's no need to hold a grudge, son." Korvac smiled evilly at him. 

Vance's internal organs crawled. "Who's going to be directing it? The Worldmind, and Starhawk, fine; but Thanos?"

Gladiator looked at him sharply. He still wasn't too big a fan of Starhawk, yes. Gamora scowled at her adoptive father, reminded. Quill looked sour.

"No one here is impartial," Vance said, certainty building. "Some of us are more trustworthy than others, but all of us have our own goals. That's why changing things just isn't possible. If the people who are doing the work are all trying to sneak in their own personal improvements, it will all fall apart. Everyone has to be on the same page, and that has to be exactly where we are right now. No changes, no fixes. There's no other way."

"It is the wisest course," Starhawk agreed, no doubt glad to finally have someone on her side. "Accept the word of One Who Knows."

"No," said Quill. "No. I mean, we can't—no. We have to try. A few simple changes and we stick to them."

"You would trust Thanos to stick to your plan?" Gamora asked.

Quill looked at Thanos and made a face. Thanos curled his lip. 

"Agck."

"I would not trust Korvac, either," Carina said. 

"I agree with Quill," Ronan said. "Some changes might still be managed. The repercussions of altering recent events would logically be less severe."

"No, Justice is right," said Rich grimly. "Give them an inch and they'll take a mile. If we let these characters start changing things, I don't see how we'll keep a leash on them."

Rob raised his hand before he spoke. "From a technical standpoint, I'm in favour of not making this any more complicated than it has to be."

"Now wouldn't that be a nice change," Quill said dryly. He stared at the line-up they'd assembled, then looked at Shadowcat. "What do you think?"

"Not really my area," she said. "But I've seen this kind of thing go wrong lots."

"I've seen lots of things go wrong," Quill muttered unhappily. 

"Yes," said the Sphinx. "For a long time, we tried to change the past; but we found that we could only change the present. To alter time, one must be subtle. It is a fabric, a web, and not a mosaic."

Beside Vance, Kaine shifted uncomfortably. "What happens when this turns into a power struggle while reality is still half-formed?" Vance asked. "Look at what just happened. We need to minimise risk wherever we can."

"Quill," Rich added. "Remember the last time a plan hinged on Thanos."

"Ugh. That's emotional manipulation, you know."

Rich shrugged unrepentantly. 

"Oh, fine. You win."

"Ronan?" Rich turned to the Supreme Accuser. 

Ronan's face was stony. "The Kree have lost more than any here."

"The Xandarians lost everything," Rich reminded him. "You lost two planets in a galaxy. It is a tragedy, and I'm sorry; but the Kree will persevere. Haven't I heard that somewhere?"

Ronan bent, ever so slightly. "Very well. For the good of all my people, I will endure even this. If the Shi'ar will also agree."

Gladiator had been quiet up to now. The air between them didn't quite ignite when his gaze met Ronan's again, but it was a near thing. Vance held his breath. Gladiator didn't have much choice here; but at heart he still wasn't a politician, and he had a tendency to baulk when he was cornered. Of course, given the history between the Kree and the Shi'ar, leaving them room only seemed to result in non-stop quarrelling. Vance held his breath as they teetered once more on the brink of open violence. 

"This is all very well and good, Rider," and every head in the room whipped around when Thanos spoke, "but I think you're all forgetting something. What benefit to me in keeping things the way they are?"

"Why you—" Gamora snarled. 

"As I recall, the benefit of Galactus not riding your ass for the rest of eternity," Quill reminded him.

"Only if I destroy reality. I don't really think the Devourer would trouble himself with a few minor alterations."

"I can't imagine how you'd enforce that restriction anyway," Korvac said. 

"I would know, and I would stop you, Michael," Carina told him. 

"Starting a fight in the middle of shaping reality itself. Yes, dear wife, that would surely be less damaging and in no way catastrophic."

"So too would know Galactus." The voice was Aracely's, or it was coming from Aracely, but Vance had only heard it a few times under unreassuringly creepy circumstances. "What is the genesis of your power, time-traveller?" 

Korvac was hard to read through the nimbus of energy that surrounded him, but his posture changed, growing actually wary. 

_Oh, what's going on here?_ Galactus and _Korvac_ had history? Or maybe future history. Vance found himself actually contemplating the prospect of mediating between Galactus and Korvac. He resisted the urge to sit down with his head between his knees for a few minutes. 

Kaine, who was already coiled, sprang across the observation lounge to land and stick to a window halfway across the room. He mostly blocked one of Galactus' massive, glowing eyes— _oh, no_ , Vance thought, even as Kaine opened his mouth. 

He also pointed a finger, stabbing it at the Devourer of Worlds. Because Kaine.

"Get out of her head!" he demanded. 

_Oh my god._ That was either the hottest thing Vance had ever seen or one of the stupidest. Belatedly, Vance composed a shield in his mind, ready to go around Kaine or possibly arrest any attempts on his part to punch through the viewport and engage in some kind of suicidal hand-to-hand combat. 

"Make your case," Galactus spoke again through Aracely's mouth. "I would hear from Geena Drake."

"I am Groot," Groot said uncomfortably, Aracely still being nestled in his branches. 

"Let her go or I punch out your creepy, glowing eyes," Kaine snarled, which was about the time Vance decided to intervene. The contingent who remembered how he'd been the last time something messed with Aracely all had their hands on their weapons and their attention on Kaine.

Vance flew quickly around by the curved wall to reach him. _In a room with the Shi'ar and Kree heads of state, not to mention Thanos and Gamora, of course it's_ my boyfriend _who starts up._

"Don't be rude!" Aracely scolded him, back to her normal voice. 

"No, you know what's rude? Random possession," Kaine said. 

"Scarlet Spider..." Vance said, touching his arm very carefully, his own back rigid with tension. He was absolutely determined not to take it personally if Kaine lashed out at him, and he had a shield up; but Kaine only jerked and flexed his fingers on whatever this ship used for glass. Thankfully, it didn't crack.

"Not random; he asked very nicely. The Devourer has much better manners than you do," Aracely said tartly. 

Vance squeezed Kaine's shoulder in an attempt to be reassuring, but Kaine shook him off. Geena Drake looked up at Aracely, then over at Galactus, nonplussed.

"What would, um, he like to know?" she asked. 

Aracely pointed warningly at Kaine, then her eyes lit up again. "Ahem. With whom do you stand, Geena Drake? Do we alter the universe or preserve it?"

"I-I don't—" Geena stuck at responding to a callout from that awesome presence with nothing better than an _I don't know_. 

Geena seemed as torn as the rest of them. Any changes they made to the present or near past would be magnified by several orders of magnitude a thousand years into the future. Although the future she came from wasn't a straight line on from where they were now; Vance wasn't entirely certain how that was going to work. The mess in their future, what Carina had described happening to Korvac's extra-dimensional prison, all said this wasn't just a problem here.

"I've seen what it looks like, a universe ripping itself apart. People popping in and out of existence. I've— _felt_ time..." Geena shook her head and rubbed her arms, unable to articulate the things she had sensed. "I'd like to fix everything, but I don't come from a world with fairy-tale endings. I don't know which is the smarter thing to do, but I know we need to do _something_ , and fast."

"You speak wisely, Geena Drake," Galactus said through Aracely. 

"Fast, huh?" Rich said. "That's the one thing everybody seems able to agree on."

"Yes," said Thanos. "It puts you in quite the predicament." 

"You know, you're making this sound less and less like a good idea," Quill told him, pacing. 

"How sad for you." 

Quill tore at his hair, disarranging it. One thing Quill apparently did not possess was a poker face. 

Korvac was watching Thanos thoughtfully. "Perhaps you and I ought to go somewhere to talk."

About ten people reacted instantly with an emphatic negative that averaged out to _absolutely not_. This was bad. They had to get back control of this before those two gained too much momentum. 

But what could they do? Threats would only go so far; anything that could make a dent in either Thanos or Korvac would shatter reality like an egg, and they knew it. Thanos might actually _want_ to provoke a fight, as a way of getting around Galactus. 

There was no thought of giving them what they wanted. Vance was absolutely certain now that allowing any changes would spell disaster. 

"I definitely liked this better when it was an invitation-only party," Quill complained. 

"Too late now," Quasar told him commiseratively. 

He and Rich seemed so comfortable with it all. Even in the middle of all of this, part of Vance couldn't help but marvel. He'd spent all his adult life as a superhero, even made it to the Avengers. But—Thanos. Galactus. Ronan and Gladiator treated Quasar and Rich like equals. Even the Silver Surfer listened to them. 

Vance tried to shake it off and think. _You don't have time for stage fright._

"I was invited," Korvac said unhelpfully. 

"You said you wanted to help," Geena told him. 

Korvac looked at her for the first time. He tilted his head to one side. "The child from earlier. But this is not the first time our paths have crossed."

Geena nodded. "You were trying to fix things then, but you died before you could."

"Ah. So that is why the memories are so..." Korvac trailed off. 

"And that's why you're here now, right?" Geena prompted him. 

"Of course," Korvac replied easily. "That's all I've ever wanted, to make the universe a better place, a safer place. But these men are intent on tying my hands." 

"What else do you want?" Vance asked.

Everyone turned to look at him again. Korvac regarded him steadily. 

"What do you mean?" 

"I mean we're not going to let you remake everything in your image, Korvac," Vance told him. "But there has to be something else that you want, maybe something that we can agree on, if saving all of reality isn't enough for you."

Korvac's gaze flickered to Carina. Vance set his jaw, because _no_. 

And now Thanos was looking at him like he actually existed, instead of being part of the non-existent décor. Vance honestly wasn't sure who was crazier, him or Korvac. They were certainly two different _brands_ of nutjub. 

"The only thing anyone should agree to give Thanos is death," Gamora said.

"Lady Death owns herself," Thanos corrected her. "Speak rather of giving me to her."

"Yeah, except apparently she's rejecting delivery," muttered Quill. "And you wouldn't stay in the dead letter office."

They exchanged sneers. 

"I don't see what you could give either one of us," Korvac said. "Nothing is beyond my power, or I would be of little use to you."

"But you wouldn't be here if you didn't want to be here," Geena pointed out, frustrated. "Why not just do it because it's the right thing? Fix it now and you can keep fighting about it later. If everything falls apart while we're still arguing, everyone loses."

"Yes, that might work," Thanos mused. "It did the last time."

"For a value of _work_ that includes _millions dead_ ," Quill objected.

"Peter...?" Rich trailed off invitingly. 

"He wants us to cut him loose," Quill explained.

"I propose a truce, for a certain interval," Thanos said. "After this is over, we go our separate ways for some period of time."

"Oh, come on," Rich protested.

"You can hardly expect me to meekly allow myself to be imprisoned again after I do this for you."

"I think it sounds very reasonable," Korvac said. "Carina, darling, I do love you. But I think we should consider spending some time apart."

"I am not letting you out of my sight so long as you still exist," Carina stated flatly. 

"Your devotion is really very touching, my wife."

"Carina," Vance said, hating himself even as he said it. "I know—you know I know how you feel about him. But I don't see how else this is going to work. You know that; you brought him here. You already decided the risk was worth it."

Carina stared hard at him for a long moment before she spoke. Vance resisted the urge to shift uncomfortably. 

"It is not a good choice," Carina said. "It would seem there are no good choices." 

Quill made a face. "Nothing for nothing, as Angela would say." He inclined his head to the silent angel shadowing Gamora with an expression of...murderous concern, Vance decided. 

"I don't care if I wait ten hours or ten years. I will still find you and kill you, Thanos," Gamora said truculently. 

"I wish you nothing but luck, my daughter," Thanos said with all evidence of sincerity. 

Ronan squared his massive shoulders. "I have already agreed."

Looks turned to Gladiator, who'd fallen into something that looked a lot like Faira's guard posture. He hadn't been talking, and his face had gone hard and blank. 

"Acceptable," he grated out at last. "But I will have my guardsmen back from the traitors."

"Right. So, that brings up another thing. The Fraternity of Raptors. Just because _we've_ decided not to mess with things doesn't mean they aren't still going to try," Quill pointed out.

"Darkhawk has intel on them," Rich said. "We can start the planning for that as soon as we know who isn't needed for the other part. 

"Yes, geek squad, who's on deck?" asked Quill.

"Galactus, the Sphinx, Korvac, and Carina; that's what they're here for," Rich said.

Starhawk roused herself. She had been tracking the byplay between Carina and Korvac especially. There was something unsettling about the way she stepped back and _watched_ sometimes, like she was waiting to see if history would work itself out correctly without her intervention. 

"Those, for the power and the shaping. You, you, and the herald as well as the Supreme Accuser and Majestor Kallark. The Titan, too, of course; this will require all your combined power. He has helped to design the ritual. I will use the Datasong to guide the process. The Xandarian gestalt will be needed to regulate the energies involved.

Starhawk swept the rest of the room with a piercing gaze. "It will also require—you," she pointed at Mark.

He jumped, startled. "Me?" 

"You'll channel and convert the energy into a single, stable form," Rob explained. "Major Victory and Justice, we'll use for temporal parallax."

_Whatever that is._ Vance supposed one of them would explain what he'd need to do. True, Starhawk didn't seem in the habit of explaining _anything_ , but they'd have to explain _something_ for an undertaking of this complexity.

"Geena Drake is of course an essential point of reference," Starhawk went on, "As is Jack Flag."

"Uh, what now?" 

"Dimensional reference, sort of," Rob said breezily. "Your profile is really strange."

Jack frowned. "Sideways. That's what Starhawk—that other Starhawk—said in one of the other futures; that I was aging sideways because there was something different about me."

Starhawk regarded him keenly. "That is it precisely."

"An unusual anomaly," Thanos agreed

"Okay, then. Robbie," Rob said. "We need you for time stuff again."

"You got it."

"Great." Rob accepted Robbie's smile at face value. 

"And to reach into other dimensions, the Shadowcat and the spider in his web."

Shadowcat; that made sense, sort of, when you looked at the phasing. _Was_ that a dimensional thing—

Wait, Kaine? 

"Kaine?" Vance asked him quietly. He'd started to relax some, from hair-trigger to merely spring-coiled. Now he locked up again. 

Kaine growled. "Can't escape this damned spider-shit."

More of what had happened when Kaine had been abducted in the spring? Kaine still refused to say anything about it. 

"How long do you need to pull this together?" Rich was asking. 

"Tomorrow?" Rob looked around his core of scientists. 

"We should start early as possible," Starhawk agreed. "Time is of the essence."

"Okay." Quill nodded. "You go do that. The rest of us will worry about your feathered friends. You," he pointed to Chris. "Up front. Now. Start talking."


	28. Chapter 28

_The_ New Wundagore III  
_Rogue Intergalactic Orphan_

Robbie stood not five feet from Thanos, watching him for signs of concocting catastrophe and wondering what the actual fuck. Increasing the surreality of the whole situation, Thanos seemed to share his opinion. He cast Robbie a disdainful look through narrowed eyes.

"Do you really think this blathering oaf could stop me if I were intent on causing harm?"

"Obviously, yes," Rich told him. "But don't think I'm not keeping an eye on you, too."

"Watch all you like, Rider. I will do as I've promised. If this ridiculous scheme is successful, I'll have time to deal with you later." 

"I'll see if I can't pencil you in."

Someone hailed Rich from across the room, leaving Robbie to do his best to watch Thanos and not the deep vee of skin between Starhawk's breasts revealed by her costume. Robbie wasn't even certain whatever she was saying to Thanos was in English. 

It was a full-on geek circus of the kind Robbie had rarely been forced to endure. Incomprehensible alien math scrolled across monitors and holoprojectors, although some of the graphs they came up with were sort of pretty, in a modern-art screensaver kind of way. 

Unexpectedly, Thanos turned to Robbie. "Your secondary powers, do they produce energy or merely absorb it?"

"Absorb, convert." Robbie shrugged. 

"From what?"

"Pretty much anything, including pain. So, pro-tip: the more you hurt me, the stronger I get." Robbie made a point of looking Thanos in the eye. 

The look Thanos focussed on him was almost enough to make Robbie flinch. But he was nearly indestructible; and the universe aside, he didn't have much to really lose. 

For the first time, Robbie had all his attention. "What an unusual ability. I wonder how one discovers it." 

Robbie tried to keep his emotions off his face. Thanos must have read something on it, though, because his eyes blazed with increasing intensity.

"You don't agree with them, do you? What is it you want to change? Oh, don't yip at me," he said when Robbie started to protest. "I of all people recognise the look of someone weary of this life. Is it just yourself you want to wipe from existence? No, it's more, isn't it? What? Do you blame yourself for this? You should. All you strutting Earth heroes who caused this mess. It's a wonder more of you don't implode with guilt. The futility of this existence is cruel enough on its own. But you all strive so pathetically to do good, and this is the result. The destruction of everything. The irony is—delicious."

Robbie's hands were clenched into fists at his sides as he stood, unable to look away during the Mad Titan's speech. He felt cold sweat all down his back.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Was I supposed to cue the mood music for your evil monologue?" His Speedball impression was crumbling under Thanos' assault. Robbie cleared his throat and tried again; his mouth had gone dry. "Don't you have better things to do than make me crap my pants through sheer force of menace?"

Thanos curled his lip in derision—which was impressive, seeing as how he didn't really have lips—but he did respond when Korvac signalled to him from across the lab, shifting his attention off of Robbie. He resisted the urge to sprint out of the room while Thanos' back was turned and maybe find another dark corner to cry in.

It put his own issues in perspective, Robbie told himself. _And I thought I had mental health problems._ Thanos was every one of Freddie Mercury's metaphors for loony and then some. _Yeah. Good thing we gave him so much responsibility._ This was totally not going to blow up in their faces. Robbie trailed along after his assigned psychopath, feeling nauseous.

 

The New Warriors not involved in Operation: Reset all shuttled back down to the _Wundagore_ together. Selah and Mark had been scheduled to take over the watch on the Silver Surfer (the Silver Surfer!) holding closed the tear from Venom and the Peter Quill from the future. 

But Mark had been scooped up by Starhawk and Rob Rider and whisked away along with Vance, Robbie, and Kaine. That left Silhouette in charge, which meant they were all pretty much abandoned to their own devices. 

"Anyone want to volunteer to cover Haechi's shift?" Sil asked without much hope. 

Selah looked around the shuttle's interior. Faira had taken the unpopular late shift last night, along with Kaine. That only left Aracely, whom they'd all been careful to keep away from the tear since that first day. Rob Rider and his geek posse were pretty sure it was just that she'd been caught up by the Nova computer's psychic transmission, but they had enough bodies to cover it without taking any unnecessary risks.

"Looks like it's you and me, girlfriend," Selah mustered something like her usual enthusiasm to say.

Sil sighed resignedly. 

She lurked in the shadows for the whole evening while Selah hunched over one of the heating units and the biggest thermos of coffee that was to be had. The Silver Surfer was either too absorbed or too above it all to acknowledge their petty human conversation. Sil was good to talk to. Not maybe as well-adjusted as Vance, but she'd been there, and the woman knew what she wanted. She was fierce and sexy, with an air of mystery that Selah one hundred per cent envied. 

"So, what's going on between you and Mister I-hate-cosmic-shit?" Selah fished.

"Why does there have to be something going on?" Sil asked from within her cloak of shadows. Granted the advantages of being in touch with the shadows out here in the darkest place in the _universe_ , Selah still thought she'd choose freezing her perky ass off over willingly marinating in the darkforce dimension. 

Selah huddled further into her parka and deployed her best puppy dog eyes. "Come on. You know you can talk to me." 

"I can talk to anybody I like. I think that was my point," Sil pointed out. 

"So you like talking to him."

"He's not a moron. From time to time, I do enjoy spending time with someone who's not an idiot," Sil admitted. "You're talking a lot. You worried about Mark?"

"I always talk a lot," Selah side-stepped before giving in. "I was all prepared for us both going into a boss fight. A little scary, but we'd have each other's backs. And Mark's tough, right? He can take the hits. And now all of a sudden he gets tapped for this other thing. I saw what channelling all that power did to your friend, and they're going to be pouring four _times_ that through Mark."

Selah felt her eyes start to prickle and ducked her head to take a sip from her thermos. 

"Well, first off, he's not going to be in it for upwards of a year like Rich was. And second, we're all risking total obliteration here if anything goes wrong. Chris's bird bozos are only a secondary threat. The guys involved in the ritual aren't any more at risk than the rest of us, when you think about it," Sil said thoughtfully.

"Well, aren't you just a ray of sunshine?"

Sil gave her a flat look. Well, fair enough.

Mark didn't make it in much before Selah did. He looked a little tired, and worried. Selah reached out an arm to snag him as he rounded the corner. He looked up curiously, and a smile animated his serious face when his eyes settled on her. Mark didn't smile big, but he smiled nice. 

"Man, your hands are freezing," he said. Selah noticed he didn't let go, though.

Selah squeezed his hand and pushed up to kiss him. Both their lips were chapped from the cold and the dry, recirculated air. 

Surprised, Mark stopped short as she wrapped her free arm around his shoulders for leverage. His arm did feel very warm when he slid it around her waist, under the unzipped parka. 

"Mark. Mark," Selah repeated breathlessly when they broke apart at last. "Let's go to bed."

Mark started to pull back, misreading her; but Selah hadn't let him go even a little bit. "I mean come to bed. Because everything might end tomorrow and you're amazing and I'm pretty sure I love you."

"Selah..." Mark sighed, soft against the skin of her cheek. He held her to him, snug and warm, getting warmer all the time. In fact, Selah was well on her way to hot. Mark kissed her again. "I love you, too."

They staggered backwards or sideways or something—anyway, they ended up in Selah's room. Selah thought she saw Sam's dad steer him discreetly in the other direction, which was embarrassing; but she would care later. 

Selah had done this before a few times. A couple. She wasn't one hundred per cent certain Mark wasn't a virgin. He talked more than he used to, but he wasn't a chatterbox by any stretch of the imagination. 

Selah ditched her light rig, and Mark pushed the coat off her shoulders, then pulled her in again. Selah leaned into him, pressing their bodies together. No hiding _that_ reaction in form-fitting leggings; she smiled into the next kiss. Selah rocked her thigh and hip into his growing erection. 

Mark made a half-embarrassed noise as his body reacted. Selah hummed and soothed him with kisses. He stroked his hands up and down her sides and back, coming up to the undersides of her breasts.

"Tease."

Mark made a little noise of disagreement. "Actually, I have no idea how to get this off."

"You're right; yours is much easier," Selah concurred, grabbing the hem of Mark's sweatshirt and whipping it over his head. 

There was an awkward moment when Mark remembered his transformation, rougher, tougher skin visible along his back and shoulders. Selah pressed a kiss to one slightly pointed ear and with a hand on his neck tilted his face into line with hers. 

"Hey. It's cool. The claw marks won't show," she teased him.

Mark's eyes widened, and he was distracted. Selah found herself twisting the hair at the back of his neck through her fingers. She smiled and leaned up to kiss the worried look off his face.

"Just kidding. Mostly." 

Selah made encouraging noises when Mark's fingers started stroking the sides of her breasts through suit and sports bra. _I did not think this through; there is no graceful way to get out of a sports bra._ She needed to invest in the ones with zippers down the front.

Mark grew bolder. Selah stroked his shoulders and down his arms, but mostly ended up clutching his muscular biceps as he made free of her boobs. She was getting little electric sizzles going from her nipples down to her groin, getting her wet and antsy. 

"Please," Mark said, his hard-on now urgent against her hip.

"Side," Selah managed, showing him the hidden zipper under her arm and letting him fumble with it while she kissed his neck and chest. 

There went the top of the costume; they were now almost equally naked. Selah felt the muscles in her belly quiver at a touch that was almost ticklishly light. 

This was also slightly further than they'd been before, hands slipping under clothes as they made out. Selah liked the feel of Mark's skin, even the rough patches. She liked to feel them receding as he relaxed. 

"Boots," Selah all but gasped into the next oxygen break. "C'mon, c'mon, c'mon."

Mark's response was to suck gently on her lower lip. Selah felt her insides melt and heat about fifty degrees. 

"Nooooo, take off your boots, and don't watch. This next part isn't very sexy, and I want to keep you in the mood," Selah complained. 

She dropped onto her bed and went for her own boots first, because that wasn't an especially alluring one, either. Mark only had one boot off by the time Selah was wriggling out of the sports bra's constricting embrace. He still stopped and looked at her in something between worry and amusement.

Selah let the elastic thing go flying across the room, and Mark seemed to forget what he was supposed to be doing with his other shoe. 

Selah absolutely did not feel self-conscious sitting on the edge of the bed in nothing but her tights. Had they better take those off on their own, too? Selah seriously wanted her hands back on Mark, but it might go faster if—

Mark was sliding off the bed onto his knees, reaching up to touch her sides. He trailed his fingers down, hooking them on her waistband and sliding under, peeling off her tights using as much contact as physically possible. Selah's toes curled at the touches on her sensitive thighs, and she shifted, smelling herself as her thighs parted wider.

Carefully, Mark tugged her tights off over her feet; but he didn't come back up. Instead, he braced himself on her and on the mattress and bent down to drop a kiss on the top of her thigh. 

"Oh. Oh," Selah said weakly even before he got any further. She could feel his breath on her wet, swelling tissues. She could feel the need throbbing through her. Mark took a breath, down where all the air must have been permeated in the scent of sex, and darted his tongue out to lick her.

"Mnn!" Selah exclaimed, trying not to jump or clamp her thighs around his head to keep him there.

Unsure how to interpret her sudden rigidity, Mark glanced up at her face. It must have been sufficiently flushed and needy to get the point across. Mark ducked his head to lick her again, tasting. He ran his tongue along and into the wet seam of her cunt, over and over, before moving up to her clit. 

Selah flexed her legs and arched her back, wanting to move but still with it enough not to be bucking in Mark's face. He spread her a little, got a better look at where he was going. 

At least he knew what he was looking for. Selah scritched her fingers through his hair, which was always messy, stroked his face with those amazing cheekbones, wrapped her hand around his horn. She cupped his head and clenched her fingers on his shoulders where the gold-touched skin changed to pebbly hide. 

Experimentally, Mark slid a finger into her, like he wasn't sure what kind of reaction he'd get. It went smoothly, and so did the next, and they fiddled around to see what they could do to her. Which turned out to be quite a bit. Those were—wow, those were not the sounds of dignity. 

"Mark. Mark. MarkMarkMarkMarkMark," Selah repeated, her voice winding up into a squeal as orgasm locked her like a bricked phone. 

Selah inhaled deeply, feeling Mark's shoulders under her hands rise and fall with his breathing. She was warm all the way through now. She felt shivery-good, suffused with a glow like the sun itself in this dark place. 

When Selah opened her eyes again, Mark was looking up at her in wonder. Selah smiled, and tilted her head, and kissed him lingeringly.

She was surprised at first by her own taste on his mouth. Well, it wasn't like _she'd_ done this all that often in the past. The future, now; Selah had high hopes for the future. 

Mark shifted, and Selah let him stand up. She may have giggled a little helping him peel out of his own tights. His cock sprang out like a page from an obscene pop-up book. That could really work, actually. Selah wondered if someone had already made one; it seemed like the kind of thing people would do. 

Looking self-conscious, Mark crawled onto the bed. Selah scooched the rest of the way onto it herself. They ended up just far enough apart that they were only touching a little bit. Another momentary hesitation. _Who moves first? Is this okay?_

Mark put his hand on her waist. Cupping his jaw, Selah drew his face to hers. 

The distance between them disappeared, swallowed up in kisses. Everything blurred into a sensory haze of touch and pleasure, closeness and need. Mark was quiet, but he didn't need to talk here, and a lot of the shyness disappeared once he felt sure of his ground. And right now, if Selah was anything, it was sure. They shifted together, closer and closer to lining up. 

"Mm, mm!" Selah knocked on his shoulder until she got his attention.

"Hrnh?" Mark disengaged from the nipple he'd been lavishing attention on. 

"Condom," Selah managed. "Need a condom."

She rolled over, or tried to roll over, and ended up in a contortionist knot, flailing one-handed at her nightstand drawer. Unhelpfully, Mark rested his head on her chest with just the faintest smile on his face. 

Successful after great length, Selah looked down at him. "What are you smirking like that for? Get suited up."

She waved the neon packet in his face. Mark held out his hand palm-up for it. Selah tried to huff in annoyance as she dropped the condom into it, but she couldn't hide her smile. 

The smile turned into a snicker when Mark, needing two hands to open the packet, discovered he couldn't use his other arm. Freeing it involved rolling around and rubbing up against each other in a way that left them both breathless again. Selah rocked into Mark's erection, hard against her hip.

"Condom," he reminded her.

Selah made a face and pinched him below the ribs but broke instantly into a smile again. Mark tipped her over from her side to her back and heaved himself up to sit back on his knees. He searched in the sheets for the condom.

Selah opened her mouth. Mark glanced over at her. 

"Don't say it."

Intelligently, Mark reached into the still-open drawer for a replacement. Nervousness made him fumble for a moment before he got it open, but he managed to roll it over his jutting cock with about as much finesse as could be reasonably expected. 

Selah drew her leg up and stretched deliberately, looking up at Mark through her eyelashes. "What didn't you want me to say?"

Mark's breath caught audibly. Selah flushed with unexpected pleasure at his reaction. 

They kissed again, sweet kisses that came easy and never seemed to run out. Mark lowered himself onto her in stages, first on his hands, then his elbows, then chest to chest. 

"Selah." He broke away from her mouth to concentrate on getting himself lined up. 

"Yeah, Mark, honey, go ahead," Selah told him, and was proud of herself for actually stringing together something like a sentence. 

Mark went slowly and carefully, watching her face the whole time. Selah felt herself stretch around him, although she was so slick he slid in smoothly. It felt like all the nerve endings in her body were suddenly in her cunt. It was like an itch; she needed to move, she needed more of it.

She moved, then he moved, then they were off. Selah stroked Mark's sides, his face, crooning a string of barely-voiced encouragements to him and his wonderful, beautiful cock. 

And his wonderful, beautiful brain. Mark wasn't just moving blindly, in and out, driving the flared head of his cock through her cunt. He was somehow still _paying attention_ , shifting his weight and his angle around in a search for the best way to fuck her. 

Now they were here, neither of them was in a hurry. Selah bore down when Mark thrust in, raising her hips to meet him, their rhythm smooth and sensual. 

Her hands were on his ass when he found what he was looking for, the angle of thrust that made her break rhythm to try and hold his dick in place right there forever. Selah moaned in pleasure.

Mark ground into her just exactly like that, short little thrusts that kept the pressure on. Feeling a renewed sense of urgency, Selah snuck a hand between their bodies to her clit. Mark made a sound when he realised what she was doing.

"Don'tstopdon'tstop," Selah gabbled before he could change the way he was doing _anything_. "More. Keep. Mark. Please."

"Yes," he agreed in her ear. "Oh, Selah. Selah, please now."

Selah had opened her mouth to reply in some way when she came, bam, like that. A little squeak escaped her mouth. She squirmed and strained, and Mark kept on doing her just right so she just kept coming, it went on _forever_ , until at last Mark came, too. 

They both hung there for a short eternity, feeling like the room was packed with cotton. Even the silence was distant. Selah held Mark, wrapped her arms around him, and wished that she never, ever had to let him go.

 

_The_ Resolute Duty  
_Orbit_

When Rich stuck his head into the crew lounge, he found it unoccupied except for Nita and Tre Owens. They both looked up when they heard the door open. Tre scrambled to his feet; Nita didn't. No doubt the increased respect was because of the Nova training on top of the police training, and probably also because he was in no way Rich's girlfriend. 

Rich jerked his head at Tre; Tre, bless him, took the hint and decamped after shutting his things in his cubby. Nita looked on, unimpressed.

She was curled up in a corner of the alien couch with a hand-viewer. Her hair was still braided back. The lights were on forty per cent, casting everything in half-shadows.

"Hey," Rich said. 

"Hi, Rich," Nita said tiredly.

"Trouble sleeping?"

Nita looked away from him, out the view ports. "Got a lot on my mind." 

Rich came the rest of the way into the room. He looked at Nita snuggled up on one end of the couch under the throw blanket and settled cautiously on the other. 

Nita watched him like he was a puzzle she couldn't figure out but didn't object. Rich let his head fall back against the couch. 

"What happened to us, Rich? Really?" Nita asked after a long silence. 

"I was an idiot. And you were kind of irrational," Rich added honestly after a moment's hesitation. _Oh, god. I'm going to have to have this conversation twice in one day._

Not that there was the kind of essential disconnect between them as between him and Gamora. But Rich didn't seem to be doing much better this time than he had before. He didn't feel like he was doing anything very well. He'd thought the Annihilation War was as big as anything could get. Even the Fault had been hard pressed to match it, unending months of fighting, loss, desperation, and despair, entire civilisations rolled under in hours. 

It seemed like a million years ago. Nita was a whole other universe. But here she was, alive, her eyes as bottomlessly black as the vacuum stretching out around them in all directions. One thing that mattered, that he had saved. 

"Irrational, huh?" Nita said, with an edge to her voice but not the really dangerous kind.

"Genetic fluctuations make you kind of cranky," Rich explained. "That wasn't really the problem. The problem was that you insisted on holding a grudge afterwards." 

"Not that you're a jerk."

"Idiot. I said idiot," Rich corrected her. 

Nita uncurled one long leg and shoved him with her foot, starting to smile. Rich caught it and traced over her winged ankle, then up her smoothly muscled calf.

"You had fins here last time." 

"Really?" Nita twisted to get a better look at the back of her leg. "How about the webbed fingers?"

"Yep, but your fingernails were more like claws. We used to argue about you filing them down." Rich coughed, the exact context of those arguments leaping to mind all of a sudden.

Nita cocked an eyebrow, pale against her vibrant skin. "Oh yeah?"

Rich thumbed the arch of her foot and didn't look away from her face. "The dog-man, Waffles, he thinks you're going to be okay?"

"Sure. Better than the last time, apparently. Worried about me, bucket-head?"

"Like you wouldn't believe." Rich squeezed her foot. He'd used to do a better job when he had two hands. "I don't know what bothers me more; that I haven't had a chance to get my arm fixed yet , or that I'm going to be sitting out the fight."

Nita shook her head at him. "It's kind of freaky how well you're coping. No offense, but I figured you'd be wigging out all over the place."

Rich grimaced. "Like I said, I can get it replaced. Knowing that helps. I lost a leg once, during the Annihilation War."

"What? Seriously?" Nita leaned over to inspect his legs, like she could tell the difference through his uniform pants. "Which one?"

Rich shrugged. "Anyway, there are more important things going on."

Nita sank back against the arm of the couch, face going sober. "I've seen a lot out here, while you've been gone. What happens to people when they loose everything, really everything. It makes Earth seem... It's weirder with everyone here now. They're different; I'm different." Nita rubbed a fingernail along the edge of her hand viewer. "It makes me wonder how much weirder it will be to go home."

"Both weird and uncomfortable," Rich told her. "Speaking from experience."

"The toothpick doesn't think I should go back," Nita said. "He said—how fucked up did things really get back home? Vance tried to soft-pedal it for me."

"Vance would. I don't know; I wasn't there for most of it. Robbie didn't handle it very well, but he does seem a lot better now. The last time I was on Earth, it was a lot less like living in an episode of _The Twilight Zone_. And apparently things have happened since then."

"I want to go _home_ ," Nita said feelingly. "I know it sounds silly to be worried about that, what with what we're doing tomorrow, but I really do. Maybe not leave the corps, but I want to see my family. I want to be able to go back sometimes, you know?"

Rich stroked her foot soothingly and nodded at it. "Yeah. I know." 

Nita sighed. "What do you really think, bucket-head? About tomorrow? Are we going to be able to pull it off?"

"What, without the Raptors crashing the party, or Gamora going for Thanos' throat—and what has Quill done with Drax, anyway?—or half the people we're relying on remembering they're super-villains, not to mention the next Kree-Shi'ar war breaking out in the middle of everything?" Rich said. 

"You're right," Nita said. "I'm sure it'll be fine."


	29. Chapter 29

_The_ New Wundagore III  
_Surface_

For once, when Vance woke up in the morning, Kaine was still there. He scowled when Vance opened his eyes and caught him staring. 

Vance had to smile. He leaned up to press a kiss to Kaine's frowning mouth. Kaine responded with alacrity, pressing them close with a palm running up Vance's bare back. 

Vance had woken up half-hard, and Kaine was getting there. Vance was so grateful they weren't going into this fighting still. They'd had sex—okay, they'd had a lot of sex last night. Getting in Galactus' face had been a really stupid thing to do, but it had also been stupidly hot. 

They rocked together, limbs all wrapped around each other. The stubble on their faces rasped as they kissed. 

Vance's room had a window; but there was no view here, just a dim glow seeping in from the lights around the ice bunker. Vance found his way by touch, revisiting all the familiar territory of Kaine's back and sides. Trapped between their stomachs, their cocks dragged against each other with shivering friction. 

One of Kaine's strong hands anchored itself in Vance's hair, like holding him in place would give Kaine the breath to keep kissing him. Vance's eyes were squeezed shut, but he felt Kaine's ragged breaths gusting on his cheek, punctuated by a grunt like a punch to the gut as he came. 

Helplessly, Vance continued to thrust through the mess. Kaine's hand cradled his head as he drove himself to shuddering release. 

Vance clutched at him as it shook through him, keeping them pressed tight. They stayed like that, the tension draining out of them. Gradually, their breathing slowed. 

Vance sighed out a contented breath. "And that's why you stay the night," he told Kaine. "Morning sex."

"Yeah, you've convinced me," Kaine said muzzily.

With a groan of effort, Vance rolled away before they could stick together and tilted up his phone to see what time it was. That was about all it was good for out here. 

Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Vance shuffled into the bathroom for a quick shower. He came out to find Kaine still twisted up in the covers. He leaned up on his elbows, watching as Vance pulled on a pair of sweats and a tee-shirt.

"You're going for a run right now? Seriously?"

Vance sat on the edge of the mattress to lace up his sneakers. "Just a short one. I've got time. Can't hurt to get the blood flowing, right?"

Kaine looked at him like he was crazy. 

Vance hesitated over his phone and headphones, but he decided that if Selah wasn't already up, he'd let her sleep in. Not seeing her in the hall, Vance set off on his own. The rhythm of his stride helped pull his mind into focus, preparing for the day ahead.

 

The ritual was set for about ten in the morning. Vance understood that there had been a some juggling to get everyone on the same time schedule when they first arrived, but time was pretty arbitrary out here. Anyway, the timing would give people a chance to have breakfast and digest a little, but not to get hungry again. They'd need everyone alert and on top of their game to pull this off. 

They gathered inside the ice bunker, warmer and better illuminated now. Automatically, Vance surveyed his team. Robbie was smiling and joking; but underneath it, his eyes were serious. Powers activated, he was apparently impervious to the cold. Sil was standing poised, twirling one of the escrima tasers she was holding. 

Kaine was dangling upside-down from the low ceiling to minimise his contact with the ice surface. He seemed to be trying to give Aracely advice through her pink earmuffs, which she was pretending stopped her from being able to hear him. 

Aracely was pretty well bundled up, and she wasn't the only one. A fair number of those present had scared up various forms of cold weather gear, muting the usually flashy costumes. Mark was of course putting off removing his sweatshirt and coat until absolutely necessary. Beside him, Selah was in a parka of her own, although the two of them were close enough to share body-heat. If Vance was reading the signs right, the two if them had had apocalypse sex last night. He was definitely glad he hadn't knocked on Selah's door earlier. 

Faira's only concession to the inhospitable conditions was to put on some boots. Evolved to handle the pressure and temperature of the deep ocean, her Atlantean physiology didn't mind a little chill. Vance himself had trapped a layer of insulating warm air with a personal shield. 

Vance's attention widened. Nita was no more susceptible to the cold than Faira, but someone had bullied her into wearing shoes, too. The rest of the Nova Corps had had their powers recalled again by Rich in preparation for this last, desperate scheme. They were down to their fightsticks and lined coats and not looking very happy at all about it. Only some of them were here, including Centurion Fraktur the Kakarantharan and Centurion Morrow the Mephitisoid. 

Centurion Philo was here, too, electing to lend his experience to the defending forces, leaving Rob Rider in charge of the complement up on the _Resolute Duty_. The remaining Novas were split between their ship and the _Wundagore_ , backing up Jake Waffles and manning the sensors and weapons batteries. They'd be coordinating with the Kree, Shi'ar, and Spartoi ships to give what support they could from orbit. 

Jesse Alexander's gladiators had finally been let out, under his direction, which meant Sam was with them, too. They'd ransacked the _Wundagore_ 's stores and come up with so much weaponry and body armour they clanked when they walked, as well as the Knights of Wundagore's atomic steeds, making them flight-capable. That would be important when the Raptors showed up.

Quill's people all had space suits or the ability to survive unprotected in hard vacuum. The truce between Ronan and Gladiator seemed stretched, but at least it was holding. Some of the future Guardians were in that group, too—Vance's older self in his hermetically sealed suit; their scientist Martinex, who was originally from Pluto; Nicholette Gold, whose body temperature was measured in Kelvin; and, of course, Starhawk. 

Chris and Starhawk had been out surveying the damage to this region of space in detail. To the Fraternity of Raptors, lurking out there watching, it would have looked like a search for them in response to the intelligence Chris had brought back. Not that the pair hadn't been keeping an eye out for any of Talon's people they could find. 

"You scope it?" Major Victory asked Starhawk. 

"We found what we will need," Starhawk confirmed. 

"Time to rock and shock, then," Charlie-27 said, slapping Vance's older self on the back.

Major Victory tore his gaze away from Starhawk to catch himself. Vance wasn't sure whether there wasn't something there; then again, his future self didn't seem sure either. Vance wondered if that was the amnesia or the temporal flux. _Looks like my love life was never going to be simple in any timeline._ Well, Vance would take good over simple.

"You said it," Rich agreed. He raised his voice over the low hubbub of conversation. "Time to split up. Defenders, spread out around the bunker. Remember, the Raptors may try another stealth approach. Darkhawk will probably sense them coming before they show up on sensors. Centurion Qubit will be in the air, coordinating the field with the ships in orbit and allocating resources. We're going to be counting on you all to keep the Raptors off us. Quill, you got this?" 

"Sure. How hard can it be?" Quill said, checking his element gun and reholstering it. "I mean, there's two of me now." 

The two Peter Quills—Peters Quill?—grinned at each other. 

"You be careful," Shadowcat warned him. 

"Hey, I've got the easy job."

All around the bunker, the teams were breaking up as people said their goodbyes. Ronan and Gladiator gave their final orders to the commanders of the troops they'd landed. Neither side had brought large contingents of ground forces on this space-based, ostensibly diplomatic mission, but they were at least disciplined and well-equipped veteran soldiers. 

Vance gathered in his own team. "Whatever happens, I wanted to say thank you. We've done what we came out here to do, all but one thing: come back home again. Now we have a chance to do something more, maybe the most important thing any of us has ever done or ever will do." Vance made eye-contact with each of them, checking their faces. "I know some of you are worried about your roles today, and about each other. I want you to know that nothing is more important to me than all of you. Before we left, I told you we were going to bring everyone back, and that's what I mean to do. I'm so proud of you."

Vance cleared his throat, blinking back unexpected moisture in his eyes. They'd be at risk of freezing shut in these temperatures. 

"And ladies, don't freeze off anything important," Robbie rescued him. 

"Don't get possessed," Kaine admonished Aracely.

"Don't worry; I'm full up," she told him cheerily and kissed him on the masked cheek. 

"I should be out there instead," Kaine grumbled as they trooped over to the other end of the bunker along with the others involved in the ritual.

"Starhawk said she needs you," Vance reassured him. 

"Don't you remember what happened the last time I got near this thing?" 

Vance frowned. "My memory of that day's a little patchy, actually. They mentioned that something happened with you after I got hit—is there a problem?" 

"I—shit. I don't like that thing; it makes me twitchy even without a Spider-sense."

_Gah._ Why did Kaine have to be such a closed-mouthed son of a bitch? "Just stay calm," Vance told him, trying to follow his own advice. "There's nothing to fight in here, or there better not be."

Kaine looked like he would rather being climbing the walls, actually. "Look, I need you to keep it together," Vance said in an undertone. "Can you do that for me?"

Kaine squinted balefully at him, alert for any hint of patronising but more likely finding creeping panic. 

"I feel like I'm about to crawl out of my skin." Kaine shook himself. 

Before Vance had a chance to press him further, Starhawk scooped him up to position him across the circle from Major Victory. Vance found himself standing with Geena Drake and Shadowcat on his right and Carina Tivan on his left. Korvac was on her other side, and beyond him, head bent to fit under the icy ceiling, was Galactus. He had concentrated himself, altering his size as the Sphinx did to accommodate the restrictions of the bunker's dimensions, although—Vance squinted suspiciously—was the floor lower over there? Like Quasar, Gamora, and Shadowcat, the stars that reportedly inhabited the shadows of his person had all gone dark in this place. 

The Sphinx was next, their glow providing most of the illumination in the room, and then Thanos, then finally Kaine, who had webbed the ceiling to swing over and not come back down yet, hanging upside-down with his hands clenched on the strand of webbing. _Oh,_ that's _a bad idea..._ Hopefully, they wouldn't have a chance to speak, although putting him next to Korvac would have been an even worse idea. 

Starhawk chivvied Jack Flag into position between Kaine and Major Victory. She'd put the powerhouses in an arc at the far side of the circle, Gladiator, Rich, Robbie, the Silver Surfer, and Quasar, where they could all pour their energy into poor Mark in the centre. Then he would focus it into Ronan's Universal Weapon, which was actually a Cosmi-Rod and could manipulate matter, although it was still a blunt instrument. 

Mark looked nervous and out of place, wearing a coat over his sweatshirt, the hood still pulled up and his hands stuffed in the pockets. He looked almost exactly the same as the day they'd pulled him out of the subway. 

As Starhawk lifted off to take up a position in the air above the rest of them, Selah burst into the middle of the circle. She threw herself at Mark and kissed him with a passion that made Vance glance at Kaine, half wishing he could justify a display of his own. Robbie's sudden fit of coughing didn't quite manage to disguise his initial loud whoop of approval.

Selah let Mark up at last, unwinding her arms from around his neck and smiling nervously at him. Mark whispered something to her Vance couldn't hear, and she grinned in reply.

"Okay, I'm gone!" Selah said more loudly, definitely avoiding Vance's eyes. She took a step back and took off, sailing over their heads towards the door. 

Robbie wasn't the only one who was having trouble keeping a straight face, but Vance wasn't as concerned about any of their emotional and mental states. Mark looked both smitten and like he'd rather pull his hoodie over his face instead of taking it off. Well, if he wanted to shred it, that was his business. There seemed to be some minimum of threshold to trigger full transformation, although it was partly a matter of intent. They hadn't been able to pinpoint it exactly, which wouldn't be an issue, since this was definitely going to exceed it.

"Okay, kid. You ready?" Rich asked Mark. 

Self-consciously, Mark took off his coat, then pulled his shirt and hoodie off over his head. He expelled air from his lungs, and it billowed in front of him like dragon's breath. 

"Yeah," he said and turned his back so he'd be facing the right way. 

Vance caught his eye and gave him a firm nod. Mark had to have the most brutal job in all this; a full-strength hit from any one of these guys would stun the Hulk in his tracks. He really hoped they didn't end up incinerating Mark.

Ronan set himself. Vance turned his attention to Starhawk, who was surveying her arrangements one last time. 

"I am beginning. Be ready on my signal."

Vance didn't feel anything at first. All he was supposed to do was stand here and be temporally and dimensionally distinct from Major Victory. He had no way of perceiving the preparations Starhawk was making to re-form reality. Kaine was right about that much, at least: it did make it hard to feel useful.

"Begin." 

Mark tensed, his shoulders growing wider and more leathery already in anticipation. At least they didn't all hit him at once. 

Robbie started. He said he'd been storing up, and he and Vance were definitely going to have a talk about what precisely _that_ meant when this was all over. Vance estimated that it took a little over a second for Mark to transform. They'd told Starhawk how big to make the circle, but several people still jumped when the blushing kid in the middle was suddenly replaced by a three-quarter-ton dragon that belched a gout of energy directly at Ronan. 

Rich and the Silver Surfer hit him next, balancing each other, and then Quasar and Gladiator. It was incredible. The energies involved charged the air; all the little hairs on Vance's body rose to stand on end in response to it. Even with the measures they were taking to decrease heat-waste, the chill was instantly driven from the air. Much more and the ceiling would melt on them. 

Incredibly, Mark was enduring it. Energy came roaring from his mouth in a steady stream. He was doing a good job of keeping both the energy type and outflow rate constant, but Vance wished he'd had more time to work with him on that kind of control. He wished he weren't wearing gloves so he could bite his nails.

"Now," Starhawk said, and for a moment nothing happened. Then everything stuttered and changed.

 

Nita's breath steamed in the cold air. It was about the only thing reminding her that she wasn't under deep water. Her Atlantean eyes could see with even less light than the bunker's outside fixtures provided, and the chill was like nothing so much as the breath-stealing polar oceans. 

She circled high above the ice bunker, watching her sector, waiting for word from Qubit or Chris or Rob up in orbit. They were covering a decent-sized area, over the bunker and the _Wundagore_ , which was still parked on the surface Nita wondered if they'd be able to tell when the guys in the bunker started up. 

_"Something's wrong with Groot,"_ Hummingbird said over the coms. She was covering a lower altitude, and now she dipped lower, out of position, to listen to the talking tree. _"He keeps repeating the same thing over and over."_

_"Oh yeah? What is it?"_ Sam asked sarcastically.

_"Guys,"_ Chris said. 

_"He says that—"_

_"Everyone! Incoming! Qubit, relay this to everyone with sensors,"_ Chris interrupted. 

Nita didn't have sensors and neither did Fraktur, but Morrow had appropriated one of the little flying things the escaped slave gladiators had dug up. It reminded her of that thing the Black Knight rode around in. He told them where to cover, and the airborne formations stirred and shifted. 

People were still manoeuvring into position when the first contact came. Chris shot into motion. It looked like he was heading for space with no thought of stopping, until he impacted apparently empty air with the shrieking clash of metal on metal. Another armoured figure materialised and started grappling with him. 

One of the gladiators managed to crash his flyer into another Raptor, who also decloaked in order to switch to combat armour. The gladiator leapt from the flyer onto the Raptor and shot at it with a blaster from point blank range until backup arrived. The he jumped off the thing to give everyone else a clean shot.

Nita felt something whizz by her and called it out even as she started pursuit. Morrow picked it up from her, using the data from his instruments, and when he started firing, Nita matched his aim with her own fight stick. 

More Raptors were decloaking now. As advertised, they ganged up to help each other out and they seemed not only to share one really too clever brain, but also to have eyes on the backs of their heads. 

Well, Nita's gang was bigger, even though the big guns were mostly busy. Telling Chris apart from the other bird brains was surprisingly easy, since their crystals all glowed distinctively in the dimness. 

Nita got off several good shots, then found herself tackled from behind. She shot at the frozen ice-wave that came rushing at her at a good fraction of the speed of sound, but it barely cracked the surface. Nita wondered if she could punch through it at this speed without breaking her arm and was just on the point of experimenting when the formation melted and twisted in mid-air like hose water without the hose. 

Put off-balance by this sudden turn of events, the Raptor let go of Nita to manoeuvre more freely when Hummingbird streaked by them a hair's breadth from a collision course. Below, Faira was sweeping her pole arm in a tight arc after a Raptor that was getting too close to the bunker.

"Water Snake, can you hold him?" called Martinex as Nita righted herself and headed up in the direction of either her position or her next target.

Martinex sent an icy beam at the Raptor Faira was hosing—Nita could almost enjoy watching her do that to someone else—but it squeaked out in time and all he flash-froze was water.

"Good idea, though," Faira told him. "Let's keep trying."

The battle kept getting lower, despite their best efforts. Aside from getting the Raptors closer to where they wanted to be, it used the defenders' numbers against them. They were getting in each other's way and blocking lines of fire. Sil was getting around that by popping in and out of the Darkforce, throwing up portals and projections in their way. 

The rookie, Selah, was drawing attention because of the way her light blasts cut through the Raptors' own Darkforce projections. Fraktur slapped one suited figure away from the girl with her massive tail. Nita opened fire on it to drive it into the path of the one Chris was shooting; and despite their best efforts, the two of them grazed each other, sending them both into uncontrolled spins. 

"Phase One confirmed," Qubit announced, but Nita thought she noticed it when it happened. 

The Raptors all stopped momentarily, and several of the defenders took automatic pot-shots at them. But when they recovered themselves, they seemed faster and more in tune than ever. 

Phase One was repairing local reality. The same thing that caused the tear and made this such a great hiding spot from the Raptors also made the rest of their plan kind of hard to follow through on. If space was so damaged here that Raptors couldn't see in, then how could Starhawk see out to fix the universe?

That was what Chris and Starhawk's little flyover had been about. Not smoking out the Raptors, but charting the local space so it could be recreated first. Sort of a smoke test to see if this would work or just eradicate everyone in the vicinity. Then, once that was done, Starhawk could tune into the Datasong and they could attempt Phase Two, which was all of everything ever. 

The _other_ thing that happened when Phase One was completed was that, since local reality wasn't about one good sneeze away from ripping apart like off-brand tissues, no one had to hold back anymore. Below, Nita could see the Shi'ar pulling out the heavy artillery. _Time to kick some ass._

 

The monster inside of Kaine was surging up to take him over again. _Shut up, you._ Kaine thought at it, clenching his fists. He could feel spikes coming out of his forearms, distending the fabric of his costume. It could sense a threat, but it didn't have enough brains to realise there wasn't anything here to fight. _Danger, danger, danger,_ it shrieked mindlessly in his brain, like a broken record. Like the bad old days of constant dire visions.

The Other wanted to attack everything, the guys blasting Mark, the lady floating overhead, the bozos right beside him who were _doing something_ to the world that was not right, not right, not in any way okay. Ripping Korvac's glowing face off would almost definitely solve all his problems. 

Kaine saw Vance's eyes widen across the three foot wide column of energy barring the way between them. Kaine felt a sudden urge to jump over it, grab Vance, and punch out the wall behind him, escaping into the night. Or on second thought, attack the thing between them. Kill the monster. Eliminate the threat. _Yes._

Fuck. _No._ Kaine growled deep in his throat. He could do this. _Could_ he do this? He never had before. Every time, he lost, because deep down Kaine was more monster than man. He'd let it in because in the end it had always been the monster everyone had needed. The man in him had never been good enough, strong enough. Kaine had tried and he'd failed, then he'd been stupid enough to try again, and it was going to get them all killed this time. 

Fuck that, just fuck it. He'd convinced them he was a person, and they'd believed him. They were depending on him not to lose it. Vance was staring at him across the blazing light of enough power to obliterate the rock they were standing on. They were in the death throes of the universe, and all his attention was on Kaine. _God, I'm not worth that._

Man or monster. Vance made him think that maybe it wasn't that simple. The crimes he'd committed would always stain his soul, but they didn't have to trap him. 

Kaine didn't know how to do this. Violence was all he was really good for, and there was nothing here for him to fight. He'd never had any other kind of strength. The truth was that it took more spine not to pick a fight. 

In his mind, he heard Vance saying, _Every punch we throw is a defeat._ Deliberately, Kaine unclenched his fists. 

 

_Wham._ Chris crashed into an eruption of ice with what would have been a skull-jarring impact if his skull were actually in the armour. Ten to one had sounded like such good odds going in, even if their really heavy hitters were all stuck inside the bunker. 

The problem was that their real strategy depended on Chris cutting the Raptors' numbers by banishing them. Only the Raptors knew he could do it now, and they weren't letting him get close. 

Things in the air were a mess. Almost the entire fight was up there. Peter Quill from the present was on the ground, defending the door to the bunker along with various other non-flying Guardians of the Galaxy. Peter Quill from the future was using his smaller ship to defend the _Wundagore_. Some of the others had gone over to help him as the Raptors swooped in and out, trying to take out its weapons emplacements.

The Novas were trying, but the organization had mostly fallen apart, while the Raptors were nothing if not coordinated. There was just no keeping a leash on the slave gladiators now they'd been set loose. The only thing that was saving their asses was all the free time everyone had burned sparring with these guys. They knew each others' moves, and they had practice improvising together. 

More unexpected pairings were springing up. Hummingbird didn't seem to have much on offense, but she was one of the only people who could keep up with the Raptors. She was doing more distracting than attacking, but nothing was hitting her. The Centaurian from the future, Yondu, shot metallic arrows from an actual bow, directing them once they were in flight by whistling. Looping by, Hummingbird took control of one, guiding it through the darkness, almost seeming to dance with it as she forced a Raptor off-course. 

On the ground, it was even worse. Water Snake and Martinex were melting and re-freezing huge chunks of ice, changing the terrain from one minute to the next and making everything dangerously slippery. 

_"Darkhawk, you do not seem to be making progress,"_ Qubit said anxiously.

"Just zeroing in on one now," Chris said. 

It was chasing Sun Girl off of another Raptor which had its hands full with Angela. Sun Girl fired behind her, swerving in and out the slagged and twisted curlicues of ice. 

"Sun Girl, can you take it past Water Snake?" Chris asked. 

_"Are you thinking what I think you're thinking?"_

"I want to pin the sucker down."

_"I think I scope you,"_ Martinex said. _"Sun Girl, buzz the last wall as close as you can."_

_"Yeah, okay; but where am I going?"_ Sun Girl asked, vision limited down inside the maze.

Chris let off a few volleys to keep the Raptor from breaking off. "Veer right next, then hang a U-ie. They're coming up—a little further—left _now_!"

The ice started melting before Sun Girl cleared the icy overhang. It crashed down over the Raptor, hot on her tail, and re-solidified almost instantaneously. 

Even so, it only caught the lower half of the Raptor. Chris called up his heaviest armour and charged in through a barrage of fire before the Raptor could free itself. He crashed down on top of it, managing to pin one arm. The other one shot him point-blank in the face. 

_Gotta do this fast._ Chris shoved his arm through a blast from the crystal, fighting down to grab it while Martinex iced and iced and finally iced down the Raptor's free arm. 

"Gotcha! Go! Leave! Depart!" Chris shouted. 

There was a flare and the world spun. Chris glimpsed another Raptor hauling ass, just a split second too late to stop Chris. The one in the ice had been a purple crystal; that meant—

"Where am I? What's going on?" 

"Plutonia!" Chris hauled himself over to where she was trapped, still trying to get his legs sorted out. "Wait, hey, no, it's me, it's Chris, it's Darkhawk!" he said when she took a swipe at him. 

Plutonia phased easily through the coating of ice, taking in the chaos around and overhead with alert interest. "They're trying to reach the majestor," she said, reorienting herself. 

"And everyone else, yeah," Chris said. 

"Why haven't you freed Mentor yet?"

"Why don't—" Chris started.

"If you want him back, why not give Darkhawk a hand?" Martinex cut in smoothly.

Water Snake was already sending a column of water twisting up towards another target. Chris scrambled to follow Plutonia into the air. 

"There are two yellow crystals," he shouted before she passed out of earshot. 

_"Oh, shit!"_ Chris heard over the coms. 

"What? What is it?"

Chris circled around, trying to figure out what was going on. "Oh, shit."

One of the flyering chariot things had crashed into the bunker, and three of the Raptors were converging on it. Chris could see cracks radiating out around the wrecked vehicle, but he couldn't tell if it had actually broken through the roof. Even as he accelerated towards them, two of the three Raptors managed to get off blasts at the weak spot. The third was knocked off-balance by Gamora. 

Everyone was rushing after them. Something hit Chris—blaster. "Dammit, I'm on your side!" 

He got back on course in time to see a massive wave of water crash into the wreck and freeze over it. There was chaos as those at the front of the charge veered out of the way. Chris knocked into someone and only belatedly realised it was one of the Raptors. He clamped his arms around it and groped for the amulet as they wove and bobbed drunkenly through the air. 

_"Hey, the door!"_ someone shouted. 

The door. In all the confusion, had they left the door open? _Where's Talon?_ Chris tried to ferret him out in the Datasong, now strong and clear. 

In his distraction, his hold on the Raptor slackened and it started to get away. Chris lunged for it as the commotion around the bunker door reached a climax.

"Go! Leave! Depart!"

A flaw in Chris's tactics became apparent when the restored designate immediately started plummeting towards the icy, unforgiving ground. Chris hastily dipped to catch him—Shi'ar, remnants of a Nova uniform: looked like Tarcel. Well, the Novas would be happy. 

It was only then that Chris had a chance to check out what was going on in front of the bunker. Someone had blocked the Raptors, thank fucking god. There was a big hole in Groot, and a few of the gladiators were down. As Chris tried to figure out what to do with an armload of half-dressed, cold-blooded Shi'ar in sub-zero temperatures, he saw Peter Quill fire a shot of lightning out of his gun at the Raptor who'd been trying to sneak in. 

Fraktur was passing by just below him. "Hey!" Chris dropped down to her and shoved the confused Tarcel into her arms. "Here's your guy. Take him inside before he gets hypothermia."

"Malik!" she exclaimed. "Thanks, Chris. Now go flark the rest of those bastards."

"That's the plan," Chris agreed and dove back into the fray. 

 

Geena Drake wasn't sure what she was seeing, or if she was seeing it, or how to describe it if she was asked. Before, when she'd noticed anomalies in the timeline, it hadn't been a lot of flashing lights. Things had just been different, bloop, like that. 

As soon as Starhawk started the ritual, Geena found herself caught up in it. She was still in the bunker along with everyone else, but at the same time she was aware of things going on in some other way. The moment when they remade the planet, everything blinked in and out of existence, although nothing disappeared or went dark. 

Now, the universe poured through her head in an unending stream, blanking, flickering, shifting perspective. There were galaxies swinging around each other in huge pattern dances that mirrored the movements of individual molecules. Within them, the little subatomic bits appeared and disappeared, changing their nature like people blinked their eyes. 

Time built up, moment superimposed over moment in a seemingly endless progression. Geena wondered if this was how the Sphinx saw the world. Then universes layered one on top of the other in the same way, in all their infinitely complex variations. It was like watching a stained glass window fuse into a solid sheet or transmuted from brittle glass into resilient silicone. 

Geena couldn't feel her body anymore. What she saw of the people standing around the circle with her didn't register. She didn't notice the sounds of the fight outside, or the spray of bitingly cold water through the crack in the ceiling. Her mind was expanded beyond the limits of its ability to comprehend and retain the information that wheeled around her. There were others there, expanding the boundaries of their work, creating the clay of reality and shaping it; but she was the centre, the fixed point, and everything formed around her.


	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the wait, guys. I ended up throwing some extra stuff in at the last minute. 
> 
> This is it! Last chapter. Thanks for sticking with me, and I hope you enjoyed the ride.

* * *

**EPILOGUE**

* * *

_The_ New Wundagore III  
_Orbit_

The momentum had turned once Chris banished the second Raptor. Sam figured it was partly the reduction in their numbers and partly that at some point the reality shift got too far along to really mess with. Also, the purple lady was pretty intense. 

They managed to effectively gang up on the Raptors, and Chris got all of them, including some random Kree scientist none of them had been expecting. They only realised later that the ringleader, Talon, hadn't been there at all. 

But the Shi'ar majestor got both his Imperial Guardsmen back, and the other Novas were all over the moon about their lost friend. The other guy turned out to be a Nova, too, a Xandarian who introduced himself as Garthan Saal. Richard Rider turned sort of green when he saw the guy, but then he'd had a big day. 

No one had looked happy when the time came to let the semi-villains go, but Sam guessed a deal was a deal. Korvac had vanished himself off somewhere; the Sphinx evaporated into the time stream. Peter Quill, under a deadly sort of look from Gamora, had handed Thanos a teleporter thingamajig. He vanished with an ugly, superior smile on his face.

"So, what _did_ you do with Drax, anyway?" Rich had asked.

Quill had shrugged. "I told him I could set up Thanos for him. So I gave him the coordinates to the planet that teleporter is programmed for and told him to wait there. They ought to be getting reacquainted right about now."

Gamora's entire face had transformed into a look of savage glee. Rocket had fallen over kicking his feet in the air, cackling. 

Rich had regarded him with something like awe. "Quill, I am going to kiss you."

Quill had made an exaggerated palm-down motion, glancing aside at Shadowcat. "Not in front of the fiancée."

Rich had re-powered the Nova Corps and given Sam the okay to use his helmet again. He had also promised not to yank the Nova Force again. Well, Sam was just as happy to have the hacked version anyway. Just to be on the safe side. 

The airlock hatch door opened for him, and Sam slipped inside, making sure he was right-side up while he waited for the airlock to re-pressurise and cycle him through. 

Rich had finally been declared recovered enough to have his arm replaced. He'd gotten back from the Kree ship last night; everyone was scheduled to go their separate ways this morning. 

The escaped slave gladiators were finally going to make it home. Sam found his dad saying his goodbyes down in the shuttle bay. Some of the gladiators had been pretty badly hurt in the fight. Ywaii the Mangler had just had a bunch of fingers stuck back on, too. They had been pinched off in the crash that had almost caved in the roof of the bunker on top of the ritual. 

"Oh, good! I made it," Sam said, jogging up to his dad's side. "I wanted to say goodbye." 

"You're a good kid," Ywaii told him. "I'm glad your family found you, my brother," he said to Sam's dad. 

Sam's dad grinned crookedly, a light in his eyes that Sam had rarely seen. "Hey, we made it. We're going home—whoa, where are you going?" 

Sam stuck his head back out the shuttle hatch. "Rich Rider asked me to come get you. Come on." 

Sam's dad shook his head and joined the throng moving up the ramp. It was a Nova shuttle; Morrow was driving. 

"MrRrao," the Fang greeted him happily. "I was hoping we would meet again." 

"RrRRrR, hey," Morrow said. "Heading home?" 

"For a while, anyway." 

"Well, keep me posted; I'll swing by on my next leave." 

It was only a short flight. The ships were all orbiting near each other, although an effort had been made to keep as much stuff between the Kree and the Shi'ar as possible. They dropped last of the gladiators on the Spartoi ship. Quill had offered to take the ones who didn't have anywhere else to go to Spartax and set them up there. 

By the time Morrow turned them towards the _Resolute Duty_ at last, Sam was practically squirming with impatience. "Settle down, kid." 

Sam smiled nervously and tried to stop fidgeting. His dad eyed him suspiciously. 

"Come on, dad. Thanks, Morrow!" Sam called over his shoulder, dragging his dad out behind him. 

"What's got you so excited?" Sam's dad asked. 

"Uh..." Sam said. "Oh, look! We're here." 

Rich Rider was waiting for them in a briefing room off the bridge, leaning back on the conference table with his helmet off and his long legs crossed at the ankle in front of him. As they entered, he was staring down at the fingers of his right hand while he wiggled them experimentally.

"Oh. Hey. Come on in." Rich started to offer his left hand before remembering his right one was there again. He made a face at himself. "Sorry. It's still less annoying this way, though."

"I'll bet. Sam said you wanted to see me," Sam's dad said.

"Yeah." Rich leaned back against the table again. "So, you probably know I'm re-forming the Nova Corps. The Worldmind's been nagging—that is, I think the time's finally right. Now that we've put the universe back together again, I'd like to try to keep it in one piece for a while."

"And you want Sam to join?"

"Yeah, that too. I figured Philo might run him through an intensive training program this summer, before we start getting raw recruits in, if you're okay with that. Which is the other thing. If we're going to be bringing in newbies, we'll need someone to train them. Philo's got three hands, but there's still only so much he can do on his own. Blue blazes, I'm probably going to have to use Garthan Saal, if his brains aren't still all scrambled. So I had Sam run out for something earlier."

Sam was practically bouncing in place as Rich reached back and picked up something from behind him on the table. He tossed it to Sam's dad with a casual flip of the wrist.

Sam's dad caught it automatically and stared. The black helmet gleamed in his hands, a little banged up but brightly polished. 

"Isn't it great?" he said, unable to contain himself any longer. "You can be a Nova again!"

His dad glanced over at him, then back down at the helmet in his hands. He looked up at Rich, fingers tightening on the enamelled surface.

"I've got a family..."

Rich nodded. "I'm not talking about sending you out on missions. We're going to set up a base somewhere. Not on Earth—six, a dozen light-years out. Well inside commuting distance."

Sam's dad coughed. "I was actually thinking about money."

"Oh, believe me, I'm thinking about the money, too. The last time I was on Earth, Reed Richards wanted to set up an arrangement for the Future Foundation to pay for access to some of the Worldmind's databanks. I'll have to talk to him before I can give you an exact figure, but you'll have a salary. I might even be able to talk to some people and get your, er, immigration status ironed out."

Sam's dad stared at the helmet again, an expression of naked longing on his face. "...I really should talk with Eva first."

"I'm sure she'll be fine. I mean, since she let me, right?"

"Take your time. But we could really use you," Rich said seriously.

 

_Spartoi Flagship_  
_Orbit_

Angela stared out the viewport into the blackness of her own thoughts. She had helped Gamora recover her lost lover from his fate; even if Gamora helped her recover her own, expecting her to stay with them would be—would be _greedy_. Greed was an ugly word to an angel, even worse than charity. Angela chastened herself with that reminder. Her ribbons twisted, curling tightly in response to her agitation. 

"Enjoying the view?" Gamora asked. 

Her image reflected darkly in the window, the depthless black of her shadows compounded by the void outside. She was...striking. 

Angela turned to face her directly. Gamora met her eyes, her own expression unreadable. 

"Lady Gamora. You've always given me fair value that I've been hard pressed to match."

"I'd say you've done well enough." Gamora's lips twisted up at the corner in a lovely little smile.

Angela averted her eyes, pressing on. "You gave me back my heart, and so a heart is what I owe you. If—it is what you desire, that heart may be your own."

A hand, slim-fingered and hard with callouses, tilted her chin up. Gamora's eyes were burning like sodium fire. She took Angela's face in her hands and kissed her fiercely. Such a challenge had to be answered. Angela had thought to be fair, but she never did give up easily. 

"You are mistaken," Gamora told her, breathing heavily. "The heart I desire is already mine. I found it, yes; but what makes you think I gave it back to you? I'll fight anyone who tries to take it from me."

_Yes._ Angela kindled at her words. She had to kiss Gamora, biting her lips and feeling deadly hands wind into her hair.

"Sera. I go to find her now."

"I told you; sounds like a good time," Gamora murmured, pulling the hair she grasped to send a thrill of heat down Angela's body and tilt her head to the side. "And from what you tell me, I owe Malekith a slow dismemberment."

Angela bared her teeth, reminded. _Yes, the elf must pay._

"I can deal with Sera if it comes to that; I don't think her terms will be unreasonable," Gamora said, her words clouding the mirror shine of Angela's gorget.

"She bargains very keenly." 

"The strangest things arouse you." 

Gamora licked the seam where flesh disappeared under metal. Her ribs expanded with breath under Angela's hands as Angela drew her closer. 

"You do yourself a disservice, Lady Gamora," she chided. 

For an answer, Gamora backed her up against the viewport and kissed her roughly. Angela, of course, gave back in kind. She _was_ aroused, and becoming more so by the second. Equitably, she set about ensuring that Gamora was in a similar state of sense-stunning lust. 

"Here. Now." Angela's voice was rough with desire. 

"Oh, yes," Gamora purred. 

They were in a large anteroom, almost a wide hall. Not an area of high traffic, but not by any means private, either. Angela was pinned with the cool, transparent material of the viewport at her back and one of Gamora's thighs between her legs. The tease of her hands as they passed over the gaps in Angela's armour was exquisite. 

It was unbearable, though, that anything be between Angela and those hands. She let her armour melt away under them, reaching out with her own hands to grasp hard muscle, silky hair, and soft flesh. 

They were not gentle. Gamora dragged short nails and rough fingertips across Angela's belly, leaving white marks behind them. Higher up, they scratched over her bare breasts and pinched the nipples into hardness underneath their red tattoos. 

Angela hissed and groaned in pleasure. She pushed back Gamora's hood and the long, green fall of hair. They kissed violently, with teeth as much as tongue and lips. 

Gamora hitched her up so she was truly pinned, one leg hooked over Gamora's hip—her naked hip. Her clothes were gone, leaving only her perfectly-honed body. She used it to keep Angela at her mercy. Deftly, Gamora's fingers parted the lips of her cunt and curled inside. 

She drove them in and out, wonderfully merciless. Angela slide her knee forward and felt Gamora wet against her thigh. Working her hips in counterpoint to Gamora's thrusts ground her leg against Gamora's cunt. Angela wanted to taste her again. She licked the sweat from Gamora's neck and scraped her teeth over the wet skin like she might try for blood next. Gamora was _much_ harder to bruise now, but Angela did so enjoy making the effort. 

Gamora made a noise in her throat, under Angela's teeth. The fingers of her other hand dug into the meat of the thigh she was rocking against. Angela's internal tension leapt towards the breaking point with Gamora's fingers still working slickly inside her, sending pulses of heat and electricity through her body. Once they were through here, maybe they would go to bed and Gamora would fuck her with something else. Then Angela would use her mouth to make her scream. 

Angela anchored herself with her arms wrapped around Gamora and threw her head back. Arching her spine, she pushed her hips forward. "Yes." 

Gamora worked the tender spot inside of her with vicious single-mindedness. Angela gasped after breath. The muscles contracted in her feet first, curling her toes. Her fingers were already clenched; her arms and legs drew in around Gamora even more tightly as the slow wave spread down her back and stomach until her entire body was bearing down on Gamora's fingers. 

The sound of Gamora coming was unmistakeable, although Angela's unfocussed gaze was still aimed vaguely at the ceiling. Angela let her eyelids fall closed and enjoyed it. 

 

_The_ Resolute Duty  
_Orbit_

"He gonna take it?" Rob asked, wandering in to the briefing room after the Alexanders left. 

"I don't know. We need him. We need a hell of a lot more than just him, but I want to start slow, this time. You know, I bet you'd be a great teacher..." 

Rob crossed his arms and gave him a Look. "I'm a grown man now. You can't protect me from life anymore, big brother." 

"I guess I just gotta settle for having your back," Rich said 

Rob relaxed, somewhat mollified. "I know you never really wanted me to join up..." 

Rich opened and closed his right hand again, comparing it with the left. "You know that when I was freaking out about Worldmind recruiting you into the corps, it wasn't about being jealous. I was already not happy about Worldmind recruiting anyone. The last time there was anybody but me in the Nova Corps, they all ended up dead. I saw all of them die around me. And then you show up in a Nova uniform—" 

"Yeah, okay, I can see how that would screw you up," Rob admitted. 

"That's all I'm saying. How are things coming? Everyone almost ready to go?" 

"Just about. Did you want to say goodbye to Emperor Quill before he leaves?"

"Yeah, thanks." 

Almost everybody was already gone. The big guns had gone straight from the planet after the excitement was over. Rich hoped Drax got Thanos again, because otherwise he was going to come back and kill Peter Quill again for setting him up like that. Korvac and Carina had simply disappeared without fanfare. 

The Sphinx had deigned to send the future Guardians ahead to whatever had become of their future now that the timeline had been stabilised. Vance and his future self, Major Victory, had gone aside for a private, low-voiced conversation before they departed. 

Galactus and the Silver Surfer had been about to leave—Rich was queasily certain that Galactus had worked up an appetite—when Chris flew up to them, holding the crystals they'd pried off the Raptor attack force. Well, if Galactus couldn't destroy them, Quill had said, maybe he could make a charm bracelet. Gladiator at least looked somewhat appeased by the transaction, enough that he let Chris fly off. He was still determined to find Talon. Another loose end lurking out there somewhere, Rich thought unhappily.

The Shi'ar had left last night. Ronan had waited until Rich fought his doctors off this morning, but he was eager to get back to looking after his ravaged people. Pulling the Kree back together was going to take a lot of work. Rich maybe had a few personal doubts about whether Ronan had the kind of political savvy and charisma it would take; but then again, an implacable, stone-faced warrior was probably the sort of thing the Kree would go for. 

Rich followed Rob back onto the bridge and waited while his brother negotiated Quill's imperial answering service. It was the most surreal experience he'd had in a while. 

"Hey, Rich," Quill said when the functionary was finally pestered into producing him.

"You guys heading out?"

"Thinking about it. Gamora and Angela already took off; something about kicking in the doors of hell. Those ladies know how to have a good time."

"Oh." It had been the right choice; it really had. She and Angela were a much better fit. Rich was going to miss her, though. "Well, she never really was one for goodbyes."

"Or boring diplomatic functions. Tell you the truth, I kind of miss all this." Quill made a vague gesture indicative of intergalactic adventuring and borderline piracy. "Now it's back to state banquets and feather beds. Hey, when you're done on Earth, do you think you could swing by with some coffee plants or seeds or something? You can get in on the ground floor when the industry takes off; you're looking for capital, right? Oh, and if you see that crazy chick from the X-Men, tell her to send Kitty some condoms. She doesn't trust space-things."

"I honestly don't know which joke to make first," Rich choked. 

Quill flipped him the bird. "Let me know if you need a hand. Metaphorically. Literally, the Kree seem to have done a decent job." 

Rich returned the gesture, looking thoughtfully at his right hand. "Yeah, it seems to be working okay."

"Seriously. Keep in touch. I've probably got a planet somewhere I can set you guys up on."

"We'll talk about it."

"Cool. Later." Quill cut the com.

Rich shook his head. Man, but Quill almost made Thanos look sane. 

"All right. Call the _Wundagore_ , please, Rob. I think it's time for us to be going, too."

 

_The_ New Wundagore III  
_En route to Earth_

Rich and Nita had come over just before they jumped into hyperspace, so Vance let Jake Waffles take the first shift at the helm. The _Wundagore_ and the _Resolute Duty_ would be travelling to Earth together. Nita and Rich and Rob all had to go see their families. Vance wondered if Nita was planning on staying; she hadn't said.

Everyone had gathered in the rec room, although some of them were stuck sitting on lab stools. Aracely had pulled Kaine down onto the sectional. Selah and Mark were cozied up on the shorter end. Some of them were still in costume, but Vance was enjoying being in street clothes for a while. He hadn't been in costume for so long at a stretch since he was an active Avenger.

"You know, I miss the stars," Robbie said.

"Me, too," said Aracely. "They are my brothers! I hung them in the sky after I killed them." 

Rich stared at her, and Nita's eyebrows rose even further towards her hair line; but the rest of the team barely batted an eyelash by now. 

"How long are you planning to stay one Earth?" Vance asked Rich.

"I'm not sure yet. I'm only planning on setting up the base far enough away to keep it out of Earth's disaster radius, so I'll be in the neighbourhood. But I'll probably spend most of my time out on missions," Rich said.

"Well, your parents will kill you if you don't stop by on a regular basis," Nita reminded him. 

"They're probably going to kill me anyway. Two years they think I've been dead." Rich groaned in non-anticipation.

"Well, you're not really a superhero until you've come back from the dead at least once. That or had weird duplicates running around," Robbie joked.

"Does the shrimp count as a weird duplicate?" Rich jerked his thumb at Sam.

"Hey!"

"Does _being_ a clone count?" Aracely asked.

"That's a good point. Technically, I think _I'm_ the weird duplicate," Vance mused. 

"Well, you're definitely weird," Kaine muttered. 

"You're one to talk," Vance said over his shoulder.

Something hit him in the back, and Vance found himself unceremoniously yanked off the lab stool he'd been sitting on and into Kaine's lap. _Well, then._

Nita and Rich looked on with amusement, but Vance unclenched the power he'd called up in his first moments of startlement and relaxed against Kaine's chest. 

"None of those things has happened to me," Selah objected, almost pouting.

"Or me," Sil added. 

"Well, then you're not doing it right," Robbie insisted. "I've been duplicated twice."

"I'm a clone and from another timeline and I died." Nita looked like she wasn't certain about her life choices all of a sudden. 

Mark had a similar look on his own face. "Do things like that really happen that often?"

"Come on, man. I thought you grew up in Brooklyn."

Vance let the conversation ebb and flow around him. They were at the end of the sectional, with both the arm and back to lean on. It was really very comfortable. Vance wasn't usually big on PDA, but—nobody seemed at all bothered. It was...nice. 

"Quill wants me to bring him coffee beans," Rich was saying. " _Coffee beans._ So he can plant them." 

"He also wanted condoms," Nita said. 

Selah perked up. "Ooh, if you're going to be on Spartax, there was this thing, it was like frozen avocado cheese. Vaxari, that was it."

"Maybe I should have kept up the delivery service," Rich said. "Obviously, I just wasn't thinking big enough. Intergalactic take-out was clearly the way to go." 

 

Nita caught Rich playing with himself again, although not in the fun way. More's the pity. Rich was way too serious these days. Nita still didn't think he was quite used to being alive again. Not that he'd really died, but that living hell, entombed in ice, was about as close as you could get and still be breathing. It had been good to see him lighten up some.

"You know, there're other things you can do with that." 

Rich jumped about three inches. "Good to know no one's worried about giving me a heart attack anymore," he said dryly. 

"How's it feel?" Nita asked cautiously. 

Two years or whatever ago, she'd have known how he'd react to that. But he really wasn't quite the Rich she'd known. Nita supposed she'd changed some, too, and in more ways than the obvious. The Rich she'd known had still had a lot of growing up to do. 

_Looks like he has._ Nita regarded him, staring sombrely at his new hand, and couldn't quite bring herself to say she was glad. 

"I never really got used to it." Rich flexed his fingers. "Now I've just got my signals completely crossed." 

"At least yours can be fixed," Nita said.

Rich's face scrunched up, like he was trying decide whether to say something. Nita eyed him askance.

"Go on and spit it out before you hurt yourself."

Rich heaved a sigh of exasperation. "Not that I don't get it's weird for you, but didn't you grow up surrounded by blue people?"

Nita lifted her chin. "And I wasn't. I had to work hard for a long time to get to a place where I was okay with being me, and that was before I found out I was a clone. Now, I look in a mirror and I see an Atlantean before I see myself. You've heard Vance and Robbie; Faira and I could be twins." _Eesh._ Faira was—okay, she hadn't _actually_ been that bad this time. But they had also been going out of their way to avoid each other. 

"Still, you'll be glad to be back, right?" Rich cleared his throat. "I guess you'll probably be staying for a while." 

Rich still didn't do subtle well. "I wasn't planning on ditching you guys. But it depends a little on why Namor sent Wet Willy after me. Does he just want to know that I'm alive? Or is something going on?" 

"Then were you thinking of joining up?" Rich asked. "We're hiring, you know." 

"Not really. I mean, would I have to?" Nita asked, frowning. 

"At this point, we'll take whatever we can get," Rich said honestly. His lips twitched. "Maybe I just wanted to see if I could get you to wear a bucket on your head." 

Nita gave him a (relatively) gentle shove. "Well, I think it would make the whole dating thing kind of awkward." 

"Dating?" 

"Yeah," Nita said. "You wanna go out sometime? We could go to the movies, or the rings of Saturn or something." 

"I don't know; have you heard Robbie's idea? He thinks I should pull Strontian out of stasis for a date. Or maybe Red She-Hulk; you know, work my way through the rainbow."

"You're not seriously taking dating advice from the toothpick now, are you?"

Rich pretended to consider. "Nah, I guess not. Let's go for coffee; they haven't let me have any coffee in like a million years."

 

"Oh, good. The cheerfulness was getting to me," Kaine greeted Faira as he poked his head warily into the kitchen. He pulled his mask off with a sigh of relief. 

"You've been in a good mood, too. For you, that is."

Kaine shrugged, not disagreeing. He was usually something like a friend—and granted that making friends was not Faira's best skill, but these surface dwellers were all infuriating and mad. Faira wondered if she shouldn't have tried to be more friend-like when he was upset, but he had been fairly clear about not desiring sympathy or commiseration. He'd known where to find her, and Faira had known to leave well enough alone. 

"I guess you're going back to Atlantis," Kaine said, pouring a somewhat arbitrary amount of coffee grounds into a filter.

"The king of Atlantis charged me to return my lady to her people," Faira said. "It wouldn't look good if she got lost on the way." 

Kaine closed the coffee machine and started the water running through it. Faira could feel a faint echo of its movement. 

"You going to stay there, after?" 

"As opposed to letting you surface-dwellers drag me between the stars? You know, I've gone for years without even seeing them."

"Huh." 

"She gets everything," Faira continued, gesticulating. "I'll admit to her skill, but she's not just automatically better than I am. Sure, she can fly, but that doesn't mean anything underwater. My powers are also—" Faira cut herself off. "We don't get along. This is her team; there's no place for me on it."

"I think she's going back into space with her boyfriend," Kaine said. 

Faira shot him a glare, which he shrugged off. "That is not the point."

"No," Kaine agreed. "The point is whether you want to stay or not. If you just can't stand the soppy, smiling idealists, I won't argue with you. But you can't let little miss princess run you off without a fight."

"If I came back, there would be a fight," Faira predicted morosely.

"Good. I'd like to see it." 

"Of course you would." The air was dry when Faira breathed it in, with just a touch of extra humidity from the coffee-laden steam. "I'm not a hero; I'm a guard. A soldier. But..." Faira trailed off, remembering what she'd said to Vance.

"But...?" Kaine poured his coffee and sniffed it as though that would aid him in gauging the temperature. 

Something like a smile touched the corner's of Faira's lips. "I never could back down from a fight."

 

_Earth Orbit_

Earth was _beautiful_. Jesse Alexander had seen a lot of planets in his day, and he'd thought he'd gotten over being impressed with them a long time ago, in contrast to Jack Flag, who basically had his nose pressed to the viewport. But when he looked at it, an actually revoltingly sentimental feeling welled up in his chest. This grubby little blue ball was home. Huh. 

The whole mob of kids was up on the bridge by the teleporter controls. Almost everyone was in normal clothes for once, bags packed and sitting at their feet as they waited for Astrovik to negotiate their return to the planet's surface. 

"Okay, but why haven't I heard this Worldmind thing before?" Sam was asking. 

Jesse took his helmet and inspected it. _Let's see..._ His fingers found the tiny, familiar buttons. 

"Here." He tossed the helmet back to Sam. "I always kept my helmet feed muted and on visual display." 

"Wait, there's a mute button?" Rich Rider asked, suddenly riveted. 

_"Never mind,"_ the Worldmind said over the com. 

"I don't remember it sounding like that, though," Jesse had to admit. "A Kree? Really?" 

"It's a long story." 

_"Wundagore, you are cleared for descent You know, we hardly ever have ships wait to file flight plans,"_ the controller at the orbital station told them. 

"Well, I thought we'd skip setting off a fire fight and widespread panic," Astrovik said. 

_"We appreciate that."_

"Okay, Mister Waffles," Astrovik told the canid pilot. "Take us home." 

They descended smoothly through the atmosphere, the sky outside the viewports transitioning from black to deep blue to occluded by the fires of re-entry. 

They were landing in Transia, wherever the hell that was, for some reason. Night had already fallen in Europe, but Arizona was half a world away. They wouldn't have to wait until morning.

"Who's going first?" Waffles asked. 

"We will," Sun Girl said. "Let me show you where my apartment is." She skipped up to the holo-display, her boyfriend trailing after. 

Sam looked at Jesse. "We could just fly in."

"Son, you have a lot to learn about covert operations. Teleport's much less conspicuous."

Astrovik cleared his throat. "Could I also suggest that you call first?"

"Oh. Yeah." What if Kaelynn had a friend over? Or Sam's girlfriend was babysitting? "Sam, you got your phone?"

"Uhhhh..." 

While Sam was digging through his bag, Jack Flag came up to say goodbye. He shook Jesse's hand firmly.

"Well, you got me home. Get in touch if you ever need a hand; I owe you one."

"Where are you going?" Jesse asked him.

Jack jerked his chin towards Silhouette where she was saying goodbye to her teammates. "Sil's letting me crash with her for a little, until I figure things out."

"Uh, dad?"

"Yes, Sam?"

"My battery's dead. I forgot to put it on airplane mode and it killed itself searching for service. Can I borrow somebody's phone?" Sam asked.

Astrovik sighed and handed his over. Rich Rider watched the exchange.

"What's up?"

"I'm calling ahead so we don't give mom a heart attack," Sam explained. "Hi, mom?"

Jesse's ears strained after the muffled, low-res transmission of Eva's voice. 

"Oh, hey, that's a good idea. Can I borrow that when he's done?" Rider asked.

"I'm glad I switched to the international plan," Astrovik muttered. He turned to Sam. "All set?"

Sam handed him back the phone, which Astrovik passed on to Rider with a small sigh of resignation. 

"Mom says if we're not there in five minutes, I'm grounded until I'm forty." 

Jesse went to give Waffles the coordinates. Sam scratched the back of his neck awkwardly.

"Thanks. For, you know, helping me find my dad," he said politely. Man, those manners were all Eva.

Speedball clapped Astrovik on the shoulder. "Hey, don't get all mushy on us. Didn't he tell you we'd do it?" 

"Think about my offer," Rider said.

"I'll do that." Jesse wasn't likely to forget. Sam grabbed his bag and came over to stand with him. "Thank you all."

It was a good teleporter, for Earth tech. One room blinked out and the other one blinked in with almost no subjective lag. 

Jesse didn't recognise this room, although the furniture was familiar. There was a gasp, and Jesse turned just in time to catch Eva in his arms. She looked tired and beautiful. The scent of her came flooding back to him, warm and real and making him grateful all the cosmic brouhaha had given him a chance to clean himself up before dragging back in.

Then she was letting go and pulling Sam into a crushing hug that he permitted with only the bare minimum of teenage standoffishness. He still made a face when she kissed his cheek.

"Aw, mom."

"You did it! You brought him home. Oh, Sam."

She let go of Sam and kissed Jesse, and the way she wrapped her arms around him this time made it clear she had no intention of letting go. 

"What's going on?" a piping voice called suspiciously from the kitchen. 

Jesse brought his head up, panting for breath. "Kaelynn?"

"Da-DAD!" 

Kaelynn hit him like she had half the Nova force behind her. Jesse scooped her up into his arms. Everything he had done in his life; this was why. He felt like his heart had finally started to beat again. "Hiya, pumpkin. Miss me?"

 

_Brooklyn_

"It'll be fine," Selah said for the fiftieth time since they'd left her apartment and about the ninetieth since they'd gotten back to Earth. 

"Selah." 

"Okay. Okay! Are you sure you don't want me to wait for you out here?"

Mark's grip on her hand tightened. "I told you; hominy might be able to get over the horn, but she'd never forgive me for leaving a guest out on the stoop."

"But I promise I won't interrupt."

Mark looked at her but didn't say anything.

"Hey, what's that look about? Mark—"

"Mark?"

Mark's head snapped around. "Ellie."

They were standing on the sidewalk across from the house. Mark was self-consciously wearing his hoodie despite the summer heat. He felt more aware of his horn than he had all this past month, surrounded by aliens and superheroes and beings of surreal power. Ellie was wearing a tank top, shorts, and flip flops. Her long, straight hair was twisted into a bun on the top of her head. Her eyes were wide as she stared at him in shock. The eyeliner around them was a little heavier than she'd been wearing it before. She was holding a half-empty cup of Rita's.

"Where did you go?"

"Space," Mark answered honestly before he could think better of it.

"What? Never mind. Look, are you coming back?"

"I don't know. Do you want me to?"

Ellie stared at him. "You disappear, and some assholes come looking for you and almost blow us all up. Then you turn into some dragon thing and disappear again for _ten months_."

Mark hunched in on himself, feeling her words like blows. _This was a mistake._

"Hey, kid, try having some respect. Your brother is awesome. All this time he's been gone? He's been helping people," Selah said, crossing her arms pugnaciously. "He's a big part of why you're still here to complain at all—"

"No, Selah, it's fine," Mark said.

"It's not fine. You've been worried sick about them and all she can do is yell at you," Selah glared narrowly at Ellie.

Ellie stared back. "You were there, weren't you?"

"Yes, I was there when Mark _saved all of our lives_ ," Selah said pointedly. 

"Selah rescued me twice." Mark came to her defence. 

"Are you an inhuman or whatever, too?" Ellie asked Selah.

"Nope. But that doesn't stop me."

Nothing seemed to stop Selah. Mark didn't know how she did it.

Ellie mushed her melting gelati around in the bottom of the waxed paper cup. "So, are you coming in or what?"

 

_Chinatown_

"So, do you want to talk about it?"

"Talk about what?" Sil asked, tapping Jack on the shoulder with a bottle of beer.

Jack was sitting on the couch in the main room of Sil's apartment. It was located over a Chinese restaurant where the owner had greeted her with a barrage of (Jack assumed) Chinese and a thick bundle of mail. Sil's answer in the same language had resulted in a bag of takeout containers being added to the haul. Jack savoured his first taste of real Earth food in years. Screw space food; he wanted pot stickers.

Sil took a sip of her own beer before setting it down on the counter so she could brace herself while she went through the stack. Jack didn't comment. She sent most of the pile into the trash with casual flicks of her wrist.

"We both know you didn't offer to let me crash here because you want into my pants," Jack persevered in the face of her determined preoccupation.

Sil flipped another colourful store postcard into the trash. "I might want in your pants."

"You might get in my pants. But that's still not why you brought me here."

She sighed, throwing the stack of mail down and leaning back against the counter. "Is it wrong that I'm actually messed up about this?"

"I was messed up about it, and for me it was only a couple of months. It's been like ten years for you, right?"

"Something like that," Sil admitted tersely.

"Those cosmic crazies take it all so casually. 'Oh, did that slavering alien monster nip off a few fingers? We'll grow you some new ones in a jar.' It's not that being able to walk again isn't worth wading neck-deep through cosmic shit for the rest of my natural life, but nobody freaking understood what it was like to have to go all the way through accepting it and then walk yourself back at the drop of a hat. I mean, what do you do with all that? And I didn't even have any parts replaced."

"Yeah, what the hell was up with Rich?" Sil demanded. "There was no shouting, no freaking out—and I'd have heard about the freaking out—no fighting the doctors to get his arm back immediately, whether they thought he was ready or not. I know I haven't seen him in years, but he lost his powers one time, and..."

"Bad?"

"Total meltdown. Rich had trouble keeping his shit together in general."

"You don't sound very sympathetic."

Sil made a vague gesture. "He grew up in Long Island. I grew up in a street gang. My threshold for sympathy is a little higher."

Jack paused with his beer half-raised. "Wait, are you peeved because he used to be a punk, or are you peeved because he's less rattled than you are?"

"Hey, if he's finally made it to adulthood, I'm happy for him." Sil took an aggressive swig of her own beer. 

This was an interesting take on Richard Rider, whom Jack hadn't really noticed on Earth but who was a cross between a bogeyman and a demigod as far as everyone in space was concerned. What was that corny phrase his grandpa had used to use? _Tall oaks from little acorns grow._

Sil went on. "I talked with Venom—I know, you've got a thing, just listen, will you? I talked with him some while we were out there. You know the new host is a double amputee, right?"

"Oh, that's a wonderful irony."

"He's a vet; you could show a little respect."

Jack made a face and a noise back in his throat, both less than happy. _I had to fucking be Jack Flag, didn't I? Why couldn't I have been Jack Anarchy?_

" _He_ hasn't replaced his legs. He doesn't even have prosthetics, just the symbiote. According to him, it doesn't feel right."

"I'll bet it doesn't," Jack muttered.

Sil rolled her eyes and ignored him. "He said it's part of who he is, and he can't just make like it never happened. Fake legs feel wrong; real legs feel wrong."

"But alien legs feel right," Jack put in dryly. "He's voluntarily wearing a super-villain; you can't let him get to you."

"You're one to talk."

"Hey, I'm just lucky he didn't bite off my arm. "

"You know, I could be talking to literally anyone else about this," Sil complained.

Jack put up his hands. "Okay, okay. I'll stop. Look, you tell me. You were, what, you were used to it? I mean, after ten years, it just starts to be the way things are."

"Maybe for some people. I felt it. I felt it every damn day since I was sixteen. But I came to terms. I couldn't change it, but I couldn't let it rule my life. So like hell I was going to let it when I got the chance to actually do something. And I refuse to now I finally have," Sil snapped heatedly. "So here's my question: what do you do with the anger?"

_Oh._ Jack felt like he'd just been smacked in the face with Cap's shield.

"Yeah," Sil responded to the, he was sure, astutely thoughtful look on his face. "I got used to something, it was that. I mean, I kick ass, I live my life, I don't moan and groan and drown in self-pity. But nobody's going to tell me not to be mad, because I've got _reason_. Now my reason's gone, but the anger isn't."

Jack rubbed his mouth, then took a long drink, hoping beer would bring order to his milling thoughts. Sil watched him.

"That's why you stayed out there so long. Even with all the cosmic bullshit," she guessed shrewdly. "You needed to put some distance on it."

"Distance. On the government-sponsored psychopath who stuck a knife in my back? On the soul-sucking super-villain prison they stuck me in and then abandoned? On the bullet they put in Captain America?"

"You know, he's actually still alive," Sil interrupted.

Jack glared at her. "—why would I need to get away from any of that?"

Jack hated cosmic bullshit. It was insane even by superhero standards. Nothing fucking made sense, and honestly Jack was lucky if he could understand any of it, let alone find something that would be resolved by punching with his dollop of super-strength. 

But at least it wasn't his bullshit. While it was true Jack had been really kind of pathetically homesick the whole time he was away, the Earth he missed wasn't the Earth he'd left behind. At this point, he didn't actually know if coming back had been a good idea.

The other thing cosmic weirdness was maybe a little bit good for was as a distraction. Jack could focus on bouncing between disintegrating future timelines and space wars and huge gashes in the fabric of reality that spewed evil tentacle monsters and completely avoid thinking about Earth being fucked up and how very thoroughly he had gotten screwed over.

"Did it help?" Sil asked.

"God, I don't know. Ask me if SHIELD throws me in prison again. I'm still fucking pissed about how things went." Jack was going to need more beer. "I'm less pissed than I used to be whenever I see a flight of stairs, if that tells you anything." 

It was a lot of mad to get through. For the people who'd done it; the people who'd screwed up the world—for himself, for not being good enough; for his legs when they'd been seventy pounds of dead weight; for how everyone had looked at him differently then but didn't now; for the reminder that no one had offered his _brother_ a magical alien cure. 

"Work in progress," Sil suggested.

"I'll drink to that."

 

_Mount Wundagore_  
_Transia/Trinity Bay, Houston_

The mountain was quiet now. Faira and Namorita had been the last to leave, disappearing into the water here in Houston. Their departure had put an end to the constant, low-grade tension in the air. Aracely had been secretly relieved. 

Everyone had gone home, except for those of them like Aracely whose home was here. That was Robbie, Jake Waffles, her, Vance, and Kaine. Even Mark had gone to see his family. Aracely would be glad to have that cloud of worry stop fogging the air, too. 

Maybe she would call Annabelle. Vance and Kaine would probably end up at Kaine's apartment, although it was well on the way to being _their_ apartment. Kaine had paid the rent in advance, but he would find that the utilities had been shut off. He wouldn't be able to get them back on again before tomorrow. 

Aracely had come up to the platform at the very top of the citadel. It was bright and warm, with the summer sun beating down on the salt air. She hovered cross-legged at the level of the railing, facing south and listening for her people. 

Robbie was only a dim echo; he was worried about Namorita and glad that she'd gone to the ocean, not the city with her boyfriend. Houston had always been loud, but it was _very_ loud compared to the soul-chilling isolation of the dead space. 

The loudness here was easier to stand. The sheer volume of people in the city served to muffle each other. It was a relief after being surrounded so closely on all sides by such strong emotions. 

Wally and Donald were both at work. A young woman had been horribly injured in an accident. Donald was taking out her heart, holding it in his hands while another surgeon hovered across the operating table with a replacement. Aracely watched, her eyes glowing.

Halfway across town, the evening crowd was picking up at the Four Seasons bar and Annabelle was busy. She flirted with the patrons who came in alone, not meaning it. There was a new song ticking away in the back of her head, almost ready to break through.

Kaine, who was always the easiest to find, suddenly vanished, then reappeared in his apartment. He was out the window in about two minutes. Poor Kaine definitely needed his space. Aracely spread her arms wide and inhaled the free air, feeling Kaine's whole body stretch and relax in the warm, gentle breeze as he swung from building to building. 

Below, Vance talked with Jake Waffles, asking questions about the teleporter and thinking about the job he'd been interviewing for in New York before they left. Aracely wasn't worried, though. Vance would always come back to Houston now. That was good. He made Kaine stronger, and Kaine would need to be strong for what was coming. Aracely smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THE END. Holy crap. This beast has taken me more than a year, two NaNos, and like a hundred sticky note tabs to complete. Writing it has pulled me out of depression at least twice, and the fact that it is nearly THREE TIMES AS LONG as I was expecting when I started it blows my mind almost as much as the fact that, plot-wise, I actually hit the target I was aiming for when I started back in November 2015.
> 
> I want to thank all of you populating this incredibly tiny fandom backwater. You are awesome and I love you.


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